The Princes of Ithilien are Dead
by Muse10
Summary: Spring will come...if we are not here to see it." After a violent attack on the elven settlement in Ithilien due to ancient prejudice, the lives of thirty one elves and a single human hang in the balance as their friends attempt to bring aid from Gondor.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR.

Set several years after Return of the King. Slightly AU.

Summary: _After a violent attack on the elven settlement in Ithilien due to ancient prejudice, the lives of thirty one elves and a single human hang in the balance as their friends attempt to bring aid from Gondor._

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**The Princes of Ithilien are Dead**

A man and an elf knelt next to one another on a high platform, overlooking a crowd of impassioned, shouting humans. Each had their wrists bound tightly behind them and were stripped to the waist, their weapons and most of their clothes taken long ago. They bore circlets of poisoned ivy, oak, and sumac in a cruel mockery of the crowns the two so rarely wore, and these had created ugly rashes across their foreheads. Behind them were several men, working the crowd into a frenzy as they raised fists and weapons into the sky.

Faramir closed his eyes briefly, searching ever deeper into his reserves of strength. How had they come to this point? How had a few rebellious men, unable to let go of years of animosity, invaded their homes, burnt half of Ithilien to the ground, and taken her princes captive? His family had been visiting Legolas in the portion of Ithilien populated by elves. It had been late, they had been sleeping, when a frantic banging on the door awoke him…

**XXX**

"My lord!" called the blonde elf as soon as the doors were opened. In his half-sleeping state, Faramir could not quite remember the elf's name. "You and your family must come quickly! Take cloaks to hide yourselves, weapons, and naught else but what is dearest to thee!"

Eowyn appeared at his side. "What is happening?"

"I do not know for sure, but strange, angry men have come with lust for destruction; they are setting fire to the trees and attempting to kill any elf they see. We believe you are also in grave danger, and my brother has already gone to find your children. We are to meet them as soon as possible," he explained.

Eowyn was pulling out their traveling cloaks before Faramir's mind had a chance to register what had been said. "Faramir, now!" she shouted. "We must not keep Rúmil waiting!"

That was the name. Rúmil and his brother Orophin had come to Ithilien with several other elves from Lothlorien, hoping to ease the pain that came from the death of their eldest brother, Haldir. They had not sailed because they felt no wish to leave the place their brother had given his life to save, and together they were making peace with the world of men. Now it seemed that would never be. Shaking his head clear, Faramir pulled on a tunic and buckled his sword-belt around his waist. He threw the dark cloak Eowyn offered over his body, squeezed his wife's hand, and followed Rúmil into the hall.

They met Orophin a door later, their four-year-old daughter Faelwen tucked safely in his arms and their ten-year-old son Elboron gripping the elf's cloak. Elboron was wearing a fairly non-descript cloak of his own that may have once belonged to one of the hobbits, as Faramir could have sworn he recognized it, and Faelwen was wrapped in a blanket, too small for anything else. Orophin himself had a cloak wrapped around his shoulders, and once he was sure that Faramir recognized him he pulled up the hood. Rúmil did the same, and Faramir was pleased to see that it would be difficult for any who did not know them well to tell that they were from two very different families.

Eowyn took Faelwen from Orophin, and though the child clung to her mother's breast in fear she did not cry. Faramir reached for his son, but Orophin shook his head. "If we get separated, it would be best if you were not caught with your son, my lord. I promise to take good care of him; don't let go of my hand, alright Elboron? No matter what."

With a nod from Faramir, the child squeezed his hand tighter and the little group set off. Rúmil put a finger to his lips when they reached the exit, and carefully made his way down a ladder that led from the brilliantly crafted tree home. He reappeared moments later, gesturing for the others to follow. He took Faelwen from Eowyn and the lady followed her daughter down the ladder. Then went Elboron, Faramir, and finally Orophin. When all of them had gained footing on solid ground, they started off again, carefully following their elvish guides through trees that looked black against a soft orange glow that was coming much to close for them to be comfortable. The smell of burning wood filled the air and smoke made their eyes water. Faramir noticed that Rúmil and Orophin seemed more affected by the destruction than the smoke, and he wondered what the many woodelves who lived here must have been feeling. To them, the forest was alive; they heard the trees sing, and now…now they must hear them scream. "I am sorry for your trees," Faramir whispered to Rúmil, who was close enough to hear.

The elf shook his head, "As am I, but I fear for our cousins more. Orophin and I feel the woods as all elves do, but the woodelves are part of it."

The words made Faramir remember his dear friend and fellow leader of Ithilien. If anyone felt this nightmare, it would be him. "Rúmil, where is Legola-"

"Hush!" Rúmil cut him off sharply. "Say no names, they may be looking for him – or you. When I saw him last he was understandably distraught, but very angry. Nay, not angry. He was…I have never seen him like that, and I do not know the word to call it in your tongue. He ordered my brother and I to escort you to safety, but refuses to leave himself. He is cloaked as all of us are, and I fear more for any who cross his path than for himself. There will be blood, but let us not speak of it. We will keep your family safe, just as our brother did – we will die as well, if we must."

"I will not allow that," hissed Faramir.

"We will protect one another, then. But please, we should keep silent unless words are necessary," said the elf. They walked on in silence, both humans and elves well aware that the fire was spreading around them but saying nothing of it so the children would not become more frightened. They started to hear voices in the darkness, shouts, pleas, encouragement, curses…Eowyn hugged her daughter closer.

Rúmil stopped abruptly, making Faramir bang into him. The elf ignored the steward and looked to his brother, who nodded and pulled Elboron closer to his side. Rúmil pulled an arrow from the quiver in his back and pressed it against his bow, while Orophin drew one long knife. Knowing it would be wise to trust the superior senses of their elven guides, Faramir drew his sword as silently as possible while Eowyn shifted Faelwen to one arm, her free had brushing against the sword in her belt, than switching to draw the dagger hidden against her leg. After a moment of listening, the elves started to move carefully forward again, their weapons still drawn.

Suddenly, Orophin stopped again and pushed Elboron to the ground. "Get down!" he shouted. Faramir moved seconds before an arrow passed through the air that would have been his neck. Rúmil released an arrow into one of the trees; there was an agonized scream and a man fell with a thud, the arrow deep in his chest. Shouts came from all around them now, drawn to the hollers of one of their own men.

"Run!" cried Rúmil. The group shot forward again, their quiet caution worth nothing now. Fear for his family drove Faramir forward and back as he constantly checked to see if they were all present.

"We need to separate!" Orophin called. "Rúmil, take the children through Dol-Eth (Little Hollow); they can fit and so can you, and these horrid men will not be able to follow. My lord, my lady, we must follow a different path, or we would be trapped. Rúmil has always been slighter of figure, and he is quite the contortionist. He well see both your children to safety."

Rúmil slung his bow over his shoulder, took Elboron's hand from Orophin's, and made the boy hold onto the edge of his cloak. "Do not let go, understand?" Elboron nodded. Rúmil turned to Eowyn, opening his arms. "I swear on the light of blessed Elbereth that no harm shall come to either. We will reach Dol-Eth quickly, and from there on we will be safe. I will head for Minas Tirith, and warn the king of what has transpired here."

With silent tears, Eowyn kissed her daughter and handed the child to Rúmil, then she knelt and kissed her son. "Be brave, Elboron. I promise we will meet you again soon, if not along the way than in Minas Tirith. I love you."

"I love you to, mama," the boy replied, trying in vain to hold back his own tears.

Faramir hugged Faelwen and kissed her forehead, whispering his love for her before also kneeling before Elboron. "You'll help Rúmil to protect Faelwen, won't you Elboron?"

"Yes, no one's going to hurt my little sister!" he declared.

Faramir smiled, "That's my boy." He pulled a small dagger from under his cloak and placed the hilt in Elboron's hands. "Take this, it once belonged to your Uncle Boromir before he gave it to me, and before that it was your grandfather's. It is not a toy, Elboron. I had hoped not to give it to you until you were grown, but it seems you must be an adult before your majority. I believe in you, Elboron, and I know you are ready."

"Thank you!" he exclaimed, hugging Faramir's neck.

"You are welcome. Now go, and do whatever Rúmil says, understand?!"

Elboron gripped the edge of the elf's cloak again and held the dagger tightly in his other hand. "Yes. I promise."

With a nod to Orophin, who had apparently been having a silent conversation with him, Rúmil started running again. Orophin smiled grimly at Faramir and Eowyn as they started moving in the opposite direction, "Come now. Perhaps if we can find your horses we will be able to ride free of this madness. They were set free when these…these barbarians burned our stables."

Faramir was not sure how long they were running when Orophin let out a strangled cry and stumbled. Eowyn caught the elf before he could fall and braced him against her body while Faramir looked wildly around them. There was a throwing knife embedded in Orophin's leg, one long enough to pierce through muscle and bone to the other side. Eowyn winced in sympathy merely looking at the wound. Faramir growled low as several men came from the darkness, most armed with torches and swords and one with several more of the knives.

"Well well boys, look here," sneered the one in front, his sword shining with blood. "Another three elvsies ready for the slaughter. You don't belong here anymore, Eldar, this is a man's world!"

All three bit back scathing replies; two because they might reveal their identities, one because he was biting his lip against a groan of pain. But one elven voice broke over the scene. "Then you will pay for your crimes by dying a mortal man's death!" Two arrows flew through the trees, instantly killing the man who had spoken and the one next to him. Faramir held his tongue again; he knew the voice, but he hoped these men did not.

An elf cloaked in deep green landed on his feet between the men and the injured Orophin, bow pointed at the humans. Under the hood Faramir could see piercing blue eyes, so ice cold now that the invaders momentarily faltered. "Faramir look out!" screamed Eowyn, bringing his attention to the knife headed for his head. He ducked, but the knife caught the top of his hood and dragged it from his face.

The men chuckled, and the new elf turned a curious gaze on him, acknowledging his recognition with the slightest of nods. "You are no elf!" shouted the dagger's owner. "It seems we've made quite the catch after all, gents! Lord Faramir, here running with elves. It is only natural he should die with them…"

"NO!" Eowyn cried, placing Orophin on the ground so she could run to her husband's side with a sword raised. "I would kill you myself should any harm come to him!"

"Ah, a double treat! Lady Eowyn, I presume?" said the man with a mock bow. "Where are your lovely children? Or have you rejected your human spawn and adopted that pitiful creature for your child now," he pointed to Orophin, whose hood had fallen back when he fell to reveal obviously pointed ears.

"Leave them be, human," hissed the elf with blue eyes. "If your quarrel is with elves, than why do you hurt your own kind?"

"Because they are not our own kind!" one of the other men spat. "We will take them back to Gwarod, and he will show all those other elf-lovers what should become of them! And as for you and the other elf…kill them!" The humans sprang forward, trying to subdue the humans and slaughter the elves.

The elf stood protectively in front of Orophin, abandoning his arrows for twin knives. Unfortunately he did not see the knife thrower sneak behind him to lean over the wounded one. The man grinned, his awful breath making Orophin grimace in more than pain. "I just wanted this back, so I can put you out of your misery, little elf," he laughed, brutally ripping the dagger from the elf's leg. Orophin screamed and all eyes turned. An arrow lodged itself in the man's back before any but an elf could move, and he collapsed unmoving next to Orophin.

Men tackled the other elf from behind, pulling the bow from him before he could notch anotherarrow or reach for his knives again. The cloak was ripped away, revealing "It's the elven prince!" one of the men shouted. Legolas let out a shrill whistle before the men dragged him to the ground.

Faramir killed the man he had been fighting in his haste to reach Legolas while Eowyn went towards the now heavily-bleeding Orophin. The steward managed to free the elf long enough for Legolas to grab his knives and fight on his own again, a brief nod once again the only acknowledgement.

The sound of hooves thundered along the path ahead of them, and Faramir cursed, believing it to be reinforcements for their enemies. But Legolas whistled again, and Faramir finally recognized the sound. Arod, Legolas' faithful horse, came galloping into the scene wearing nothing but his own white coat. The horse brutally kicked at those near his master, but nuzzled against Orophin on the ground and the lady who was trying to protect him. "Faramir, take Arod and go!" Legolas shouted above the din of battle.

"And leave you here? Never!" the steward replied. "We are in this together, mellon-nin, are we not both Princes of Ithilien? I will fight!"

Legolas grinned, a frightening combination with his furiously flashing eyes. "I understand, Faramir, but they are sure to kill us! Go while you can, you have a family waiting for you, and Ithilien needs at least one lord breathing!"

"You have family too, Legolas, and there is another lord of Ithilien. Eowyn! Eowyn, my love, take Orophin on Arod and get out of here!"

"No!" she shouted back. "I cannot leave you, do not ask it of me!"

"Eowyn, please, I am not trying to send you away because I don't think you're strong enough to fight. I love you too much to lose you, and I know I'm not strong enough to go on without you! Ride, find Rúmil, warn Elessar, and return! If it is within my power, I will live to say that I love you one last time."

Still shaking her head, Eowyn helped Orophin onto Arod's back before swinging on behind him. "I will hold you to that promise, son of Gondor! I love you!"

"And I you, and I will say it again! Now ride!"


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

Thanks for the reviews! I'm afraid this chapter will have a little less action, but most of this story is meant to be from the perspective of many and not all of them are fighters.

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Eowyn urged Arod faster, many years as a daughter of the horselords allowing her to ride without bridle or saddle, as the elves did. She guided the horse with her knees, though he seemed to have his own good sense of direction, and concentrated on helping Orophin. "Hold on, dear friend, soon we will be in Minas Tirith and you will have an entire contingent of healers to look after that leg. I am afraid my skills in the healing arts leave much to be desired, so our greatest chance is in speed."

"Fear not, lady; I have no mortal wound. 'Tis no more than a – ai! – a scratch," replied Orophin, wincing as the leg was jostled.

Eowyn lifted an eyebrow, clearly not believing his pronouncement. "It pains you still, and I will feel better for all of us once the…"

"Rúmil!" Orophin shouted, pointing some way ahead of them. "By the Valar! I don't know how they beat us this far without a horse, but look my lady! They are alive!"

As Arod took them closer, Eowyn could indeed see a group of the smallest elves she had ever seen; several of them must have been children. They had gone through Dol-Eth, their size allowing their escape. With a gasp, she realized one elf carried a small bundle and another carried a larger body. Eowyn urged Arod to go faster and called ahead of them, "Elboron! Faelwen!"

The elves stopped, turning to face the oncoming horse, and Rúmil, the one holding the smallest bundle, grinned, "My lady! Brother! You are a most welcome sight after such a dreadful night as this!"

Arod stopped just in front of the elf, his sides heaving after the effort of running so fast for so long. Eowyn slid from his back, hesitantly reaching for Faelwen and glancing at the female elf next to Rúmil who carried her son. "Are they…"

"They are well, Lady Eowyn," replied Rúmil, "only sleeping. We were glad to let them rest from this nightmare."

Eowyn shook her head, "I am afraid they will wake to a more hellish one."

Rúmil frowned, "You bring ill news?" He looked over his brother and grimaced at the sight of the wound on his leg, the red smeared across the white sides of the horse he sat on. "Orophin! You are hurt!"

"It is not so bad, brother, though I dare not walk," said Orophin. "That is the best of news we can bring. Faramir stayed behind to fight, along with Legolas, and we have had no news of either of them since. We fear they have been taken or…I dare not speak such a thing."

Rúmil nodded grimly, "Ride on then. We will be able to make it on foot in another day or so, but your mission requires speed."

Gently planting a kiss on her children's foreheads, Eowyn returned to her seat behind Orophin. "May we meet again soon, and with happier news," she called, kicking Arod's sides until he was leaping across the planes.

**XXX**

It was nearing evening again when the gates of Minas Tirith came into sight. When they reached the city, Orophin was taken to the healing halls and Eowyn was granted an immediate audience with King Elessar and Queen Arwen, despite one counselor's insistence that they were already with some important ambassadors. Once she received approval, she forwent any announcement to the throne room and threw the doors open. Aragorn and Arwen looked up, along with their fourteen-year-old son, Eldarion, and the ambassadors: Elrond's identical twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir.

"Welcome to Minas Tirith, Lady Eowyn," said Aragorn. He frowned, noticing blood and dirt on her hands and dress. "What brings you to us in such a state?"

She bowed slightly before the king, partially to hide the frustrated tears that threatened to spill. "I bring dire news from Ithilien, my king. Cruel, mad men have taken it upon themselves to destroy the elven city and all the fair creatures dwelling within it. Last I saw, much of our lovely Ithilien lay in ruins, consumed by flame." As she continued, her voice grew more desperate. "The men have murdered elves, though I know not how many, and they intended to capture my family because of our close ties with the elven community. Rúmil walks to the city with my children and a small company of refugee elves as we speak, and Orophin is in your healing wings; I pray that they are not the only survivors. But there is worse yet…"

She looked up, her eyes meeting with the king's alone. "Aragorn, I was forced to leave Faramir and Legolas behind. I believe the men wanted to take them alive, but I dare not think of what would befall them should such a doom come to pass. Please, my lords, my lady – please, send aid! If you do not, all who remain there will surely be killed!" Eowyn fell to her knees on the white marble floor, finally unable to keep tears at bay.

Aragorn rose from his throne and knelt on the stone in front of her. He put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to look at him again as he spoke with earnest, "Peace, Eowyn. I swear to you that I will assemble all forces necessary to free Ithilien from these wicked men, and I will send out a troop to locate any refugees and bring them here with all haste."

The twins moved forward as well. "We will join you, for Legolas has been our dear friend for many, many years," said one.

"Aye," the second added, "as have many who migrated with him to Ithilien. Your Lord Faramir has also shown great quality in the time we have known him, to match your great spirit."

"I want to go too!" called Eldarion, who had taken after his father despite the points on his ears. "If my uncles are in trouble, than I want to help!"

Arwen shook her head, "No, ion-nin. We will be needed here to aid those who seek refuge from Ithilien."

"But nana…!"

"Eldarion, no!" Arwen replied, giving him a look that left room for no further argument. "I would not have you fight, especially not when you have yet to come of age!"

Eowyn stood, with a bit of help from Aragorn to stop her shaking legs from giving out, and reached out to touch the prince's cheek. "Won't you look after Elboron and Faelwen when they get here? They look up to you so, and they have been through much. They will need you, Eldarion."

With a sense of purpose, the prince was more willing to comply to his mother's demands, "I promise, Lady Eowyn. I won't let anything happen to them."

**XXX**

Over the next day and a half elves began to trickle into the city, coming in small groups that had managed to stick together or find one another in the chaos. Many were injured, and some even carried the corpses of brothers, sisters, friends, and lovers who should never have known the chill of death. Rúmil arrived the morning after Eowyn and Orophin, and the children immediately ran to their mother while the elf went to sit with his remaining brother.

The healing wing was bright with midday sun when the twin sons of Elrond found a moment to visit this other set of brothers, using their healing skills as an excuse for their presence since they had never really known Rúmil or Orophin. Haldir had been a babysitter and later a friend to the twins when they visited their grandparents, as he had been two centuries their elder. They had looked up to Haldir and in turn helped him care for Orophin and Rúmil, who were born twenty-three years apart. But by the time Orophin reached his majority, the twins thought little of the unchanging Lothlorien and spent more of their time with the traveling rangers. Their sister was born, their mother was attacked, Estel came to live with them – in well over a hundred years, there still was no time to get to know Haldir's younger brothers as adults.

Arwen's extended stay with her grandparents after Celbrian sailed offered her a different view, and she had written to them of the Marchwarden's youngest brother so often that they once believed her in love with Rúmil. This proved to be a simple matter of close friendship due to the nearness of their ages, but it enabled the twins to learn a little more about Haldir's family. The three brothers were incredibly loyal to one another, and that fraternal bond was something the twins could easily understand.

"You must be angry," Elladan said quietly as he changed the bandage on Orophin's leg. They spoke in elvish, since Rúmil and Orophin were more comfortable with that language. They had become fairly fluent in the Common Tongue, but were sometimes embarrassed by the way they stumbled over certain words.

"About what?" asked Rúmil.

Elrohir gestured to Orophin's wound, then to the rest of the room filled with hurting elves. "This; all that has been done to you and your home."

"We are angry," Elladan continued, "and we have only lived this terror vicariously."

Orophin hissed when Elladan pulled a little too harshly, "Furious is more like it. I will recover, but there are many who never will. My fury, though, is overcome with an ever-increasing worry: we had to leave many behind."

"Aye, I am angry at _myself_ – to leave Ithilien, to leave Orophin to those horrid humans was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. How could we have let them get past us? How did we not notice?" Rúmil scowled.

Elrohir raised his hand and squeezed Rúmil's shoulder. "Nay, do not place such blame on yourself. You did well; you kept the little ones from harm and guided them to safety. Lady Eowyn has expressed her gratitude many times over."

"I know this, yet I cannot help chastising myself – our lords may be dead, or worse, and we do naught but plan!"

"Peace, brother. I had more a hand in that than you; if I had not been so injured, perhaps all of us could have escaped," said Orophin.

Elladan smiled, "You truly believe Legolas would have left Ithilien of his own free will? What would you have done, if you even managed to subdue him? Tied him to the horse?"

Orophin sighed, "That may be true, but Lord Faramir could have escaped with Lady Eowyn, and then I could have remained to help Legolas fight!"

Rúmil gripped his brother's hand tightly. "No, Orophin! I would not have you dwell on such things, for in this your injury was surely a gift from the Valar. Had you been well enough to fight longer, I might have lost you. My heart would not survive it…not again."

The twins glanced at one another. "Excuse us if we speak out of turn," Elladan began, "but that is part of the reason we sought you out. Arwen said that you have spoken little about Haldir's passing, and she feared it would cause great harm."

When neither of the brothers spoke or looked at them, Elrohir continued, "We were afraid such a close call would bring you more emotion than you could handle. Do not take this as an insult, for we would not think you weak!"

"Indeed," said Elladan, "you would have to be made of mithril to feel untroubled. We thought perhaps we could ease your burden, for as twins we understand the importance of a sibling bond, and from ada we have heard how much it hurts when such bonds are broken. We knew Haldir well…"

"…idolized him as elflings…" Elrohir admitted.

"…but we never got to know you, and we are sorry for it. We may not be close, but would you share your pain with us all the same? We would not have you close yourselves off from all the world, or hate all mortals for what the few have done to your family."

Now Orophin and Rúmil shared a look, speaking not with their thoughts like the twins but with their eyes. With a shaking sigh, Orophin answered, "Aye, we would like that very much. I hate, and have hated long while refusing to let it leak into my outward presence. I feel it poison both of us. I tire of hate, I tire of death; I want vengeance I cannot have."

Rúmil brushed his thumb against Orophin's hand, "I will go with King Elessar and take vengeance for both of us, brother, of that you can be sure. But for the pain of all that has been lost, all that could have been…'tis…difficult to put into words."

"Than do not speak," replied Elrohir, drawing Rúmil into his arms like he had when the elf was just a child. Elladan maneuvered them closer to the bed, and the four shared a healing embrace.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Don't own PR.

Thank you to the 1 person who reviewed! I'd love if more people would - I'm an English major, I don't mind _constructive _criticism. But enough moping! There is plenty more action in this chapter, and plenty of the princes!

Warning: This chapter contains some language and descriptions of torture.

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They fought hard, always, but there were too many enemies and they were injured. Even Faramir, who was not so affected by the tragedy due to the invisible force that protected the spirits of all humans from the elf-sickness, found himself tired and hurting, eventually unable to do much more than give an occasional kick. Besides, their wrists were always chained, even after they had taken a hammer and shattered the hands of any who had been an archer, including Legolas.

Currently a heavy man who reeked of ale and sweat was dragging Legolas and Faramir to the large wooden platform the humans had built in the middle of their camp. They were always brought separately from the other elves who had been captured rather than killed, although they usually suffered the same torment with a bit more excitement on the part of the crowd. The Princes of Ithilien shared a dark look; every time they had been brought to the platform in the past two days, they had been publicly tortured. The most recent had left Faramir unconscious after being whipped within an inch of his life and Legolas without the use of his hands. Already they were being led through a jeering crowd and up the steps of the platform.

Faramir was led away from the elf, the chain on his wrists attached to another that would keep him in one place. Legolas was forced to kneel in the center of the platform, at the feet of the leader of the murderous band. The man was not as large or strong as some of his companions, but his mind was more cunning, though it must have been twisted to give the man such an intense hatred. He had a ruddy complexion and greasy, short black hair that covered his face as well as the top of his head. His name was Gwarod.

"Well, well, elf, now it seems you are the one who is to kneel at our feet!" he sneered.

Legolas glared into the camp in front of him, a crowd already gathered to see what would become of their captives today. "I have never asked anyone, human, elf, or otherwise, to kneel before me. One should do so out of respect, and you have none of mine."

"Insolent creature!" said Gwarod as he circled Legolas. "Elves are inferior, elves are weak now that their magic dies! Everything that makes you an elf makes you weak! Your language, your magic, your looks – yes, even those ugly little ears!" The other men roared approval when Gwarod pulled out a knife. "I will teach you to respect men, elf!"

He grabbed the blonde hair and wrenched the elf's head to the side, placing the sharp edge of the knife against the tip of his ear. Faramir could see Legolas tense, and suddenly understood exactly what was about to happen. He struggled desperately to get free; he simply _could not _let them do this. "No!" he yelled. "Let him go you bastards!"

Gwarod merely smiled, ignoring the man and whispering loudly to Legolas. He could feel the elf tremble against him, terror racing through immortal blood. It was the first time the elf was actually showing his fear, and Gwarod knew he had finally found a weak spot. "So this will hurt you deeply, hmm? I thought as much." He addressed the rest of the camp, "My friends, shall we help this poor creature? His ears are so deformed, and I think it's high time we did something about them."

"NO!" Faramir shouted, but in the same breath the man pulled the knife through the flesh of Legolas' ear, completely severing the pointed tip. Legolas screamed as blood poured down the side of his face, his entire body trying to contort away from the source of the pain.

Gwarod laughed and stood up, momentarily leaving the elf free. But all Legolas could do was lie on his side, his chest heaving as he bit his lip against another cry. Gwarod held up the piece of flesh, displaying it for everyone to see as he encouraged their taunts.

Finally, Faramir managed to kick the guard nearest to him hard enough to leave him winded on his stomach. It was a far cry from freedom, but at least the commotion brought the attention away from Legolas. "How can you do such a thing?! Leave him be, if you must continue such torture take out your bloodlust on me!"

Gwarod did turn at this, the sneer on his face promising some very unpleasant things to come. "What did you say, _Lord _Faramir? Or do you prefer elf-bitch? Mayhap we should grant his desire, eh, boys?" The crowd roared, and Faramir could not help the shiver running down his spine. At a gesture from their leader, the guards unchained him from the post and dragged him next to Legolas. Their gaze met for a split second and Faramir was surprised to find the elf's eyes were wet. Perhaps it was the blood that ran into them, but Faramir guessed otherwise. The men grabbed his hair and Faramir was forced to look up at the crowd.

"Ignorant bastards," Faramir hissed.

Gwarod clucked his tongue, "Such language is unbecoming of an elf-bitch, _my lord_. Then again…" his grin widened and he opened his fist, forcing Faramir to get a good look at the bloody tip of Legolas' ear before it was raised to the crowd again, "you can't be a true elf-bitch without ugly ears, now can you?"

The other men shouted in approval while Faramir and Legolas tensed. _"Valar, no. No human could be so cruel. It would be the final insult…to both of us!" _Faramir thought. Then the guards shoved him to the platform, holding his head still and sitting on his legs to keep them from thrashing. He could see Legolas for a moment, held back by guards, before another body moved into his line of vision. He was held down while they took a needle too blunt for the task and forced it through his ear, drawing a black string through his flesh and then the piece they had stolen from the elf. Though the rough job was over in minutes, it felt like hours before they pulled him upright and forced the right side of his face toward their audience. The others clapped and laughed to see the elvish point of Legolas' ear stitched to Faramir's, but Gwarod was not finished yet.

"Why, my Lord Faramir! You are still only half an elf-bitch, for only one of your ears is ugly!" he grinned. "And Lord Legolas, you are the same! You must think it a compliment, being like those fools in Rivendell, and now Gondor – half-elves, hah! No better than full ones, and perhaps worse! Well then, we shall remedy this situation at once!"

When the guards started to hold Legolas down again, this time forcing his left ear to face Gwarod and his knife, the two captives increased their struggles. "Stop! No! Let go!" neither were sure which of them yelled what, and their weakened bodies met with little success. With Gwarod's nails digging into the skin of the elf's cheeks and others pulling at his hair, Legolas was forced to remain immobile as the knife was placed behind his ear again. This time Gwarod took his time, slowly slicing through the cartilage as though he was trying to make sure the cut was even. Despite his best efforts, Legolas shrieked and blood spilled into his open mouth.

The men laughed, Gwarod displaying the ear tip again before going to Faramir and attaching it to his left ear. When the guards moved away again, both the Princes of Ithilien were breathing hard and barely able to rise from the floor of the platform. "This is the world of men!"

Faramir forced himself to his knees and spat, "You are no men! You are nothing but filthy, ugly, orcs!"

Gwarod scowled. "Take them away! Bring out our other elven guests. I won't have any more pointy ears in this world!"

Legolas was on his feet instantly and tackled the man to the ground. "You will not touch them!" Unfortunately, all Gwarod had to do was pull on the remains of the elf's ears and Legolas rolled away from him with a yelp.

Gwarod stood again, kicked Legolas' broken hands, Faramir's broken ribs, and glowered at the guards. "I said get them out of here! Bring me the others, we _will _teach these cursed elves to show respect to those in power!"

**XXX**

Aragorn rode on Brego in front of a large host of men and elves. Every elf, male and female, who had been able to fight was riding back to take revenge on the ones who had attacked their families and their beloved Ithilien. Eowyn also rode with them next to Aragorn in order to take a revenge of her own. Rúmil, with the twins on either side of him, rode close behind. Arod galloped with them, no tack or rider on him. Rúmil had insisted they let the horse come with them, in case Legolas required a quick escape. The horse would know what to do, and even if it was only Faramir or another captive who became his passenger Arod would let none fall. Born in Rohan and trained by an elf, there was little more one could hope for in a horse. Arod could sense that the two-legged beings accompanying him were worried, even if the only words he could understand were his master's name and the constant request, "Noro lim!"

"You fear we come too late, then?" asked Elladan.

Rúmil nodded, "Aye; it was three days ago when we left them, and if they were yet alive and free I am sure they would have met us in the city. Or at least along the way!"

"You may yet get your wish," called Elrohir. "Look!" Ahead of them, the elves could make out a single horse, being led slowly by a tall figure that looked close to collapse. There was a bundle on the horses' back. As they got close enough for the humans to see the figures, the elves were able to make out a few details. The figure was a woman, and there was definitely another body on the back of the grey-coated horse.

Suddenly, Rúmil's eyes went wide and he pushed his horse forward to meet the girl. "Niniel!" he shouted, leaping from the horse and running the rest of the way to catch the elleth as she fell into his arms. Behind him, the twins had also run ahead before dismounting, and Aragorn called the others to a halt. "Niniel, are you well? How did you get here?"

The pretty, young elleth seemed to take a moment to focus grey eyes; she had not even noticed the army heading straight for her. "Rúmil?"

"Yes, yes it's me. You're safe now."

She tried to get up, and Rúmil helped her stand again, "Rúmil…"

"Yes, I'm here Niniel."

"Rúmil…Rúmil…I have to save Finmar…he's hurt badly, I can't wake him up." Her eyes finally clear, she looked directly at Rúmil. "We had to stop and hide yesterday until early this morning because they were looking for us, but I think we took too much time. He saved my life, Rúmil, we have to save his."

Rúmil looked up. Elladan was already lifting the brown-haired elf from the horse and placing Finmar on Elrohir's cloak, which the other twin had laid out on the ground. Elrohir smiled, giving a nod to indicate that their patient was still alive. "It's alright, Elladan and Elrohir will take care of him." As he spoke, he lowered the elleth to the ground again and gently pushed back the matted red hair from her face. "Sweet Elbereth!" he exclaimed. "Niniel, what have they _done _to you?!" Her face was covered in blood, all stemming from the torn flesh of her ears.

"What they did to all of us who lived. The morning after the attack, every elf who breathed was taken captive by those monsters who destroyed our home. They tortured us, humiliated us in front of their friends. Yesterday, they cut off the tips of our ears. Ai, it _hurts_, Rúmil, it hurts so badly! Then they…they wanted to take our bodies by force."

Rúmil clenched his fists tighter and growled. "Mandos reject them! They deserve a fate worse than death. Would that we had arrived earlier! Gohen nín, Niniel…saes…"

She shook her head, "There is naught to forgive, on my part. When they tried to force me Finmar broke loose – I've no idea how – and attacked them with a knife he took from one of the guards. He managed to steal one of their horses and get both of us on it before they hit him with two arrows. Still, it frightened the horse and we escaped because they were busy with the other prisoners. Valar, I pray they never managed to carry out _that _atrocity on any of us!"

"As do I," Rúmil agreed. "How many were there, Niniel? How many of them, how many of us? King Elessar has agreed to come to our aid, I ride now with an army of his men and those of ours who can still fight."

"I know not; there must be at least three hundred humans, and their leader calls himself Gwarod. There are twenty three elves that I have seen, including ourselves, but I think there were more than thirty in the beginning. Some of them were already badly hurt and died from their wounds. Others…disappeared. Oh! But there are rumors that there are two others, kept separate from us. They say that Princes Legolas and Faramir have also been captured! Last I heard they were injured but alive," Niniel replied.

Rúmil kissed her forehead. "Bless you, Niniel! Now, let us find someone to take you back to Minas Tirith, where both you and Finmar can be well looked-after. Orophin is there, I am sure he will come to sit with you."

She smiled, "I am glad to hear it; I feared you were all dead."

"No more than a scratch, according to my brother. Now, up you get…that's it." Rúmil eased her to her feet again and gently led her back to the army. Elladan and Elrohir followed, Elrohir carrying Finmir wrapped in his cloak and Elladan leading the horse. "King Elessar," Rúmil called, "can you send some of your men back with these two? They have been held captive and are badly wounded. Niniel can ride that horse on her own yet, but Finmar must have some help for he remains unconscious."

Aragorn nodded and called to two of his men, "Deagon, Caleb!" Two soldiers rode forward, one very young and the other somewhere around fifty. "I have a very important task for you. Escort these elves back to Minas Tirith, see that they are taken immediately to the healers. Elrohir, you can give Finmar to Deagon," he gestured to the older soldier. "He is something of a healer himself, he will not allow Finmar to fade."

"Nay sir, I swear I shall not," declared Deagon, carefully taking the injured elf from Elrohir and arranging him on the horse.

"Caleb, you will ride next to Lady Niniel. Keep her awake, and make sure she gets to the city safely," he told the boy-soldier.

Caleb nodded and drew up next to the other horses while Rúmil helped Niniel to mount. "Mae govannan, Hiril Niniel. Pelin pedi i lam edhellen." (Well met, Lady Niniel. I can speak the elvish language.)

She smiled in return, "Hannon le."

Rúmil patted the horse's neck and whispered to her in elvish, "We'll save them, I promise. I will not let anything else befall our friends. Now go, so that we may all be reunited the sooner."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

Ask and ye shall recieve! Thanks for all of the reviews! I quite appreciate them. To answer some of the questions (which I also appreciate): 1 - The men never really left Ithilien, so the elves know where they are. 2 - no one was ever raped, Finmar and Niniel created enough of a distraction to start a small riot (which will be mentioned in later chapters) that kept them from carrying out the threat.

Finally, the timing of the next several chapters is going to be odd, since several events that are occuring at once will be spaced out over them. The first part of this chapter occurs _before _Rúmil and the others meet Niniel and Finmar. Enjoy!

* * *

Legolas leaned heavily against the bars of the cage he shared with Faramir. It had probably been meant to contain some sort of large animal, likely a bear, for the purposes of entertainment. Though fairly sized in width, it was not high enough for elf or man to stand up straight. The bars were wide enough for them to slip their wrists through, unfortunately they were too well-watched to attempt picking the lock. Their cell was completely open, and they had spent much of the first day trying to ignore the needs of their bladders, as their captors refused to release them for such 'trivial necessities.' The men had laughed when they finally tried to hide one another from view, and after their first trip to the platform they were in too much pain to really care.

They had done their best to treat one another's wounds, but neither were healers by any stretch of the imagination and there was little they could actually do with no materials. There was nowhere near enough water for drinking, let alone enough to wash out blood. When they asked for more water, the men had dumped ice cold river water on them in the middle of the night while they slept. Awkward as it was, neither was too foolish to deny the need of more heat, though the only place to find it was in the form of their companion's body. Now they spent a great deal of time huddled together, even an elven body unable to drive away the chill.

Faramir wondered if this was the case now, for the elf was trembling. He moved closer and gently touched his shoulder. Legolas opened his eyes and offered a pained smile, "Thank you."

The steward blinked. "For what?"

"For defending me when you knew it would cost you such pain."

"But I failed!" he exclaimed.

Legolas shook his head, "Nay, you gave me hope that there are good men, and that perhaps not all of these are monsters."

"I'm afraid I do not understand," Faramir admitted.

"Because you could not hear. Just because they mutilated my ears does not mean my hearing was affected, though I was hard-pressed to listen to anything but the blood humming out of my body. To keep myself sane, I have listened to the crowd through our torment. Not all of them are yelling, for those who whisper believe that this is wrong. Many of them are young, merely following the fathers who will beat them if they show weakness. Others were willing to burn our forest and homes to the ground, for they did not understand how we are connected, and now think that they should release us and return to their homes. Many of these men are simply afraid, of elves and men. Yes, there are monsters here, but there are also hearts that have been confused, hearts that could return to the right path," the elf explained.

"I remember saying something similar to Frodo when first we met. You wonder if they are truly evil at heart, what lies or threats led them so far from home. I have heard them singing at night, and some sing of beautiful maids whom they love; others of glory; still others sing sad songs, lamenting what they lost in the war. But they also tell stories of elves as horrible, wicked creatures who lure mortals into their woods and eat them," Faramir finished with a slightly amused smile.

Legolas chuckled, "Indeed, many humans have had the misfortune of encountering the real monsters in the woods of my home, and it is too often blamed on the elves who come just in time to kill the beast and look as though they have murdered all the mortals themselves. Did you know that Gwarod was originally from Esgaroth, sometimes called Lake Town? It is very close to the edge of our woods. His father and older brother were hunters, and his father always told them that the elves would enchant them if they were not careful. One day they did not come back, and his brother was found in the river with all of the blood drained from him. Gwarod still believes it was elves, and he would not believe any who told him about the spiders."

"How do you know all of that?"

Legolas closed his eyes again. "He told me when the others were…whipping you. Asked if I wanted to drink your blood." He opened his eyes again. "Gwarod is insane, Faramir; truly insane. He said that he would keep making you bleed until I could not control my thirst, so that everyone would know the tales were true. One of the guards said it was too much, so Gwarod slit his throat to make up for the blood."

"Valar! Why do these men follow him so blindly?"

"I do not know, I am no man."

Faramir shook his head, "These are not men, either. Come now, let me see to your wounds as much as I am able."

Legolas sighed, but titled his head and let the man look at the edges of his ears. "Do not touch unless you must. Gwarod was not wrong when he thought that this would hurt me very much. The tips of our ears are practically made of nerves; believe it or not, they improve our balance. But they can cause us extreme pain or…" he blushed, "extreme pleasure."

Faramir blinked. "You have an ear fetish?"

Legolas' blush deepened, "No…well, yes, but all elves are…stop laughing Faramir! It is not funny! Compared to some of the interests of you humans, ours are not at all strange!"

Faramir smirked, "Exactly how do you know about human sexual habits, Legolas?"

Without thinking, Legolas answered, "Well, Aragorn once…" Faramir burst out laughing, and Legolas realized he was being mocked. "Not like that! He _told _me…I mean, because we were in a human bar and there was the most ridiculous looking woman there and…Elladan and Elrohir were there too, and they were the ones who asked…Faramir! You _know _that I did not mean it like that!" In the end, Legolas ended up laughing too, and the princes were able to forget their pain for a little while.

A commotion broke out across the camp, a female's scream followed by a male's angered yell, _"Niniel! Don't you touch her!" _Then there came the sounds of a fight. The two princes looked at one another; whatever had happened, it did not sound like it would bode well for them.

"Do you think we'll see them again, Legolas?" Faramir whispered as he inspected the left.

"See who?"

"Our lovers, our children, our friends…"

Legolas shifted slightly and winced when his broken hands brushed against the dirt floor. "Yes. No matter what happens, we will see them again, in this life or another. Are you finished? I feel dizzy, and I think I will go to sleep for a little while. You should as well, and in the morning mayhap we shall wake to find ourselves in our own beds, with the barest memory of a nightmare."

"Alright, Legolas. Just promise me that you will wake once more at all," said Faramir.

The elf smiled, "So long as you do the same. After all, I must learn more about the strange ways of mortal creatures. Men, dwarves, and hobbits! I suppose even after a hundred years, you shall still be able to surprise me; or so Gandalf has warned me."

**XXX**

Arwen sat in the rocking chair of Eldarion's old nursery. She and Aragorn had kept it after moving Eldarion to a regular set of rooms in the hopes that there might be another chance to use it, but the fertility of a man who was over 100 and a woman who was well over 2,000 years old was understandably difficult. Well, at least they could use it so long as Elboron and Faelwen were young – and any other siblings that might come along. Arwen frowned at that; if he was killed, Eowyn might never have the chance for another child with Faramir,.

"Is something wrong, nana?"

Arwen smiled at her son, "Nay, I was merely thinking. Ignore the musings of your elders, and play with the little ones."

"I shan't forget that, you know," Eldarion grinned.

Arwen chuckled, then felt a slight tug at the knee of her dress. She looked down to see little Faelwen looking up with big, bright blue eyes. "Mommy says you make hair pretty. Will you make mine pretty? Please?"

"Of course!" the queen replied, pulling the child into her lap. She began to run her fingers through the gold-colored locks. "What pretty hair you have already! I do believe you will grow to be as lovely as your mother. My brothers call her Vanedhel – that means elven fair."

"My mommy is pretty, isn't she?" Faelwen said. "Daddy tells her all the time, and then they kiss; it's gross."

Arwen laughed as she separated the blonde strands, "Is it now?"

"Uh-huh. 'Ron and I always make faces. I'm never gonna kiss anyone ever, especially not a yucky boy."

"So your father is a yucky boy?"

"Oh no! He's just a daddy, that's dif'rent. He kisses my boo-boos and makes them better! My daddy is the best daddy in the whole entire world! Well, I'm sure your daddy is nice too."

Arwen was glad that the child could not see her face change at the mention of Elrond. "Yes, my daddy is vey nice. He made all of my boo-boos better too, and he use to tell me stories just to make me laugh when I was hurt or scared. He yelled at my brothers when they teased me, and he braided my hair, just like I'm braiding yours now."

Faelwen squirmed a bit, got comfortable, and settled again. "Can I meet your daddy someday?"

Arwen hesitated, "Maybe someday, pen-eth, but I do not know. He sailed across the sea before you were born, to see my mother, and that is very far away. I hope we see him again, though – maybe someday."

"Is that the sea Prince Leg'las always sings about? Do you think he could bring a message to your daddy when he goes? I want to draw a picture for him, of you."

Arwen almost cried at the child's sweetness, "We'll see. I do not know when Legolas is leaving, though I hope it will not be for a long time, until you are all grown up."

"Well then I won't grow up, because I don't really want him to leave at all! We can send the picture with someone else, or maybe put it in a bottle," said Faelwen.

Arwen smiled, "I am sure we can find a bottle for you, if you wish." She deftly wrapped the last strands around one another to make sure the intricate elven braids did not fall out. "There! Now you look elvish."

Faelwen slid from her lap and ran to the mirror in the corner of the room. "Oh, thank you!" she exclaimed, admiring her hair from every angle. "It's so pretty! I look just like mommy, when Leg'las made her hair pretty!"

"You do indeed," Arwen said, coming up behind Faelwen.

After a few more moments of self-admiration, the little girl turned around. "When is mommy coming home?"

"Soon, pen-eth."

"Do you think she can save daddy and the pretty elves from those bad men?"

Arwen tried to keep herself from looking worried, "I certainly hope so. I most certainly hope so."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

Thanks for the reviews! Hopefully you will enjoy this chapter, since Aragorn has (finally) made it to Ithilien. On the other hand, I never promised that it would be a good thing...

* * *

A man and an elf knelt next to one another on a high platform, overlooking a crowd of impassioned, shouting humans. Faramir sighed, still thinking of the last time he had seen Eowyn, hopefully riding away to safety. That had been the last friendly face either he or Legolas had seen in three days. Now he prayed to the Valar, half that they would let him break his promise so that she did not have to see this, and half that he could keep it if only she would come now.

He looked over to the being beside him and found it difficult not to retch. Legolas' hair had been chopped short, as had his own, and the jagged edges did not cover the gruesome mess of the elf's ear. Faramir could not get a good look at Legolas' back, but he already knew what he would see; a mirror of his own skin, ripped raw by a whip. The bindings that held the elf's wrists together in front of him were entirely unnecessary; they must have shattered every bone in his hands, so that the archer could never shoot again even if he did manage to escape. The poisonous crown was just one more addition to every other mockery he had suffered at the hands of these men. Faramir shook his head; it was a sorry state for such an elegant creature to be in.

On the other hand, he was well aware that he was not in such a fitting state, either. Faramir bore his own crown of ivy, oak, and sumac that was making his forehead itch terribly, but the itch was a mere annoyance in comparison to the rest of his body. He had received a brutal blow to his ribs during the initial fight, and he was sure at least one of them was broken. His own ears were ruined by the stitches attaching the missing points of Legolas' ears to his own. His back was a painful mess, too. What hurt him the most, though, was that despite their best efforts, despite warrior elves with thousands of years of experience, they had not been able to save their precious Ithilien. Of course, the part where Faramir and the humans lived was untouched, but the woods would never heal from this, not when elvish blood had spilled so freely.

They had been told there were thirty-six elves captured with them originally, and now there were just twenty, each badly injured. This was the first time they had been able to see the others, and unfortunately it seemed that it would be their last. The day before two elves had managed to start a riot, momentarily allowing some of the others to get free. One human had been killed and two others injured before all of the elves were re-imprisoned. Gwarod was furious. He claimed to have shot down the two who began it while they attempted to flee, but Faramir heard him order several men to go looking for the missing elves. They were probably safe somewhere in the woods. Gwarod had locked the other elves away without food or water, but was too busy calming his own men to actually carry out any further threat. Unfortunately, in the morning Legolas and Faramir had been woken early and informed that they were being held responsible for inciting the other captives. Their penalty was death.

Gwarod paced in front of the elves who were lined up behind the two princes. "Now you fools will see who has the power, and you had better not _dare _start up again, or every last one of ya will be whipped! Watch, because these two who you believe in so strongly have _failed_. Do you see them?! Do they look like princes to you?! They are weak, just like the rest of your kind, and they will never see another sunrise!" He stepped away from the elves to speak to his men. "My fellow humans, today is the day of judgment! For inciting riots, giving the means for rebellion to inferior forms of life, and the murder of humans, this day I hereby sentence Faramir and Legolas of the purged Ithilien to death!" The crowd cheered.

"Fear not, mellon-nin."

Faramir looked over to Legolas, who had spoken so quietly the human was sure he had imagined it. "What?"

"Fear not," Legolas repeated, cool blue eyes meeting Faramir's. "If we are to die this day, than we die together and we die nobly. Aragorn is coming, I am sure of it. They will rescue the others, and you and I have capable companions to replace us, should Anor never rise. Rúmil and Orophin are free and alive, I can feel it, as is your Eowyn. They are far stronger than most realize, and they will be able to rule over Ithilien on their own, should they choose to succeed us. A new spring will come again to Ithilien, with new trees and new life, even if we are not there to see it. So fear not, good Faramir. All will be well in the end, and we…we will see what adventure lies beyond the seas I have so longed for."

Faramir could not help a smile, "So we shall. I would like you to know that I have been honored to lead Ithilien alongside you, and to have such close contact with elves. I hope your people do not think badly of all humans after this."

Legolas shook his head, "They will be angry, but most will look beyond what the few have done. Others will go to the sea. I too have been honored to lead our people together into the new age. 'Tis a shame we will not see more of it, but the will of the Valar must be obeyed. You are a good man, Faramir of Gondor, and a good friend."

"You as well, Legolas of Mirk – nay, Greenwood! Or better, you are a good elf," Faramir replied. He opened his mouth to say more, but a strike across his back made the words turn into a groan.

"No talking, no planning, elf-bitch! There will be no more escapes!" Gwarod shouted.

With a grimace, Faramir looked forward again. He blinked. Was that…? Yes! In the woods just beyond the camp were eyes! He inhaled suddenly when he caught sight of the one pair he would recognize anywhere. _Eowyn_…

**XXX**

Aragorn sharpened his sword at the edge of the woods of Ithilien. Most of the army was waiting here for word from the scouts, Elladan and Elrohir, who had been sent ahead. They were ready to move at a moment's notice, but they did not want to walk into a trap. Which reminded the king of a question he had been meaning to ask the elves. "Rúmil," he called to the closest.

"Yes, my lord?" asked the elf.

"How did those men invade Ithilien in the first place? I mean no offense, but I have never heard of an elven settlement this large being overtaken by humans of any number."

Rúmil sighed, "That is because they did not enter Ithilien as invaders. They came with a few of their male younglings, and claimed their wives and most of their children had been taken or killed by some of the orcs which remain to taint the world. They begged Prince Legolas for sanctuary. Many were truly frightened, and some of them looked like they were injured – we found that to be different when a man with a broken arm used it to kill three healers that night. But we did not know this at the time, and Legolas granted their request. They attacked while most of us were in reverie, and set a fire to distract the guards."

Aragorn bowed his head, "I am terribly sorry men took advantage of your hospitality. I offer my service and that of all humans under my command."

"Offer it to my prince and to my brothers," Rúmil hissed. Then he sighed, "I am sorry, I had no right to respond so my lord."

Aragorn shook his head, "You are angry. You have every right to be so; I only ask that you focus it on those who most deserve it. Again, I offer apologies on behalf of…"

Twin figures jumped from the trees in front of them. "Save diplomacy for later," said Elrohir. "Our friends are not far, but we must go quickly."

"The good news is that it looks like they have all the prisoners out on one big platform right in the middle of the camp, including Legolas and Faramir," said Elladan.

Elrohir continued, "The bad news is that none of them look too healthy and there are about three hundred armed humans between us and them. We overheard some of them talking. They plan to kill Legolas and Faramir…"

"Before the noon hour is out," both twins finished.

Eowyn, who was near enough to hear, gasped, "No! We have enough soldiers, my lords, let us charge them now!"

Elladan shook his head, "Then we might condemn them to death. They could easily kill every last one of them before we could get to that platform if we just charged in like that. We need more stealth."

Aragorn nodded, "Let some of us go ahead on foot, then, and give a signal to the cavalry when we can charge. We will sneak forward and try to get as close to them as possible. Maybe some of the elvish archers could incapacitate the men on the platform?"

The twins agreed, along with a reluctant Eowyn and an eager Rúmil. As the message went through the troops, Aragorn, Eowyn, the twins, Rúmil, and twenty other elves and men dismounted and made their way into the trees. Some of the woodelves climbed into the trees as they got closer and began to take the longer way around toward the sides and back of the camp.

They could just see the camp through the bushes. All eyes were on the platform, leaving the intruders in safety for the moment. Unfortunately, those they came to rescue were not; the men of the camp were cheering as their apparent leader walked around two bound figures who knelt on the platform. Aragorn looked to Elladan, who stood next to him. The elf nodded, his eyes able to clearly detect their missing friends. Rúmil, who stood next to Eowyn on Aragorn's opposite side, mentally calculated the faces of the elves who stood further back on the platform, heavily guarded and tied together. He heard a soft gasp next to him and looked over at the lady, who was staring intently ahead. Catching her line of vision, Rúmil realized she had managed to catch Faramir's eye, even though they were hidden among the foliage. He smiled; if Faramir could spot Eowyn, than surely the elves could see their rescuers as well. He only hoped none of their enemy noticed.

His ears twitched, almost pained by the harsh command of the leader that was instantly drowned out by the crowd's shouts and cat-calls. Their view was blocked momentarily by a large man who had leapt up in excitement, and Rúmil clenched his bow tighter when he caught the words 'kill the elf-bitch.' Eowyn tensed, and when the man moved out of their line of vision, it took her more strength than it had to slay the witch-king in order to keep from crying out. Guards had come behind the two prisoners, each placing the tip of a long, naked blade against a bared neck.

Rúmil desperately looked around the scene. It seemed to have frozen for a moment, with each player set in his place and waiting for the call to action. The leader of the band of men had his hand raised, prepared to give the order for death. The executioners stood behind their victims, the remaining elven prisoners looked on with a mix of expressions from horror to hope. The woodelves were all that moved, and yet too slowly; none were yet in a position where they could aim for the platform without fear of harming those they sought to release. At his side, Eowyn was trembling and clutching at her sword, eyes still locked with Faramir's. Aragorn stood in motionless horror, his own gaze stuck on Legolas, who seemed to be – smiling? Beyond the king, Elladan and Elrohir were identically poised, bowstrings drawn tight. Only their aim was different, by some unspoken or missed communication. Rúmil prayed their aim would be true, or they would become the executioners themselves. Now it was his time to get into place. He strung an arrow, pulled it back, and waited for the world to keep spinning.

One arrow flew, someone screamed, others yelled, more arrows, they charged forward.

**XXX**

Gwarod had his hand raised, grinning as he prepared to rid the world of two more of its troublesome, unnecessary creatures. Before he could drop the arm, an arrow flew from one of the trees above him and caught his arm. He screamed, and the crowd turned their attention to the woods around the clearing. "We're under attack!" he yelled, pulling the arrow out of his flesh with another shout. "Get your weapons, you lazy fools! Kill the wretched elves and all who would help them!" He grabbed Faramir's arm and pulled the man to his feet, pushing him against the guard who had been prepared to execute him. "Take them, and follow me! They won't dare shoot as long as we have their precious princes."

Faramir and Legolas were unceremoniously lifted by the guards, who stood on either side of Gwarod with the princes as their shields. An arrow flew just passed Gwarod's ear and embedded itself in a tree. The group ran from the scene of battle, other men keeping their would-be saviors occupied long enough for Gwarod to reach one of the elvish guest houses that had not been destroyed. These were on the ground level, meant for any humans who wished to stay in Ithilien without climbing unlike Faramir and Eowyn. Gwarod locked the door behind him and had the princes thrown into one of the store rooms which had no windows. There was already the body of an elvish warrior inside, who had been left to die in a puddle of his own blood for three days. Both Faramir and Legolas looked away, saying prayers for the dead in their own languages.

"Try anything, anything at all, and you are going to _wish _I had you killed earlier," Gwarod hissed before leaving the room to consult with the men who had escaped with him.

"Is it wise to leave them with a warrior's body?" asked one of the guards.

"Of course you idiot, we stole anything valuable days ago, including his weapons!" he replied. "Get a map. We need to find the fastest route to Harad. Damn Gondor! This would have gone perfectly if it weren't for their elf-loving king! No use now; all we have left are the princes, but I will make sure they suffer for this. We'll take them with us, and if they aren't dead by the time we get to Harad we can sell them to the slavers. Then we'll have enough money to find another way to get to Gondor. I will _not _serve under a half-blood prince!"


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

Thanks for the reviews! I quite hope you'll still be reading after this chapter...just remember that its not over! By the way, Eldarion _is_ the half-blood prince; he will have a greater part in this story in later chapters.

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Faramir squinted at the little glass vial half filled with clear liquid, his companion's words ringing over and over. _Do you trust me? _He trusted Legolas, yes, but something held him back yet. Was this really their only option? He looked over to the limp form of his friend lying a few feet away, entirely unaware of the world for the first time in over a thousand years. Faramir sighed, feeling utterly alone. There was an angry shout from Gwarod in the next room, and orders to prepare the horses. With a renewed determination, Faramir focused on the contents of the vial. He would never be a slave or a plaything for these wicked men, of that much he was certain. He gave silent thanks to both of the elves in the room for at least providing him with the means to take control of his own fate, and downed his half of the vial. Almost instantly, he was struck by an overwhelming fatigue and the glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the floor next to him. He slumped even further back into his corner of the wall, and waited for oblivion.

**XXX**

All of their plans were changed when an over-eager woodelven archer let his arrow fly without a kill. Gwarod started shouting orders and Eowyn shrieked "_Faramir!_" as he was dragged away. She was moving forward even before Aragorn yelled for an attack. The archers kept the remaining prisoners relatively safe with their arrows, while the twins let theirs fly into the crowd. Elrohir had shifted his aim for the leader, but he missed as the man moved to steal away with the princes. Rúmil joined the others in their attack, yelling wildly, "For Haldir! Orophin! Legolas! Faramir!"

These and other names were shouted by those who heard Rúmil. With the call for a charge, the mounted soldiers joined the fray, along with several horses who searched for their riders. Rúmil managed to grab a hold of Arod, for his own mount had been borrowed from Gondor's stables and balked from another battle; it had already lost two masters in the war. Arod allowed Rúmil to leap onto his back and direct the white horse to the platform. He slung his bow over one shoulder and pulled a long-knife from his belt. As he passed the platform, he struck at the rope restraining the captured elves, setting them loose enough to help one another be freed. With cover from the archers still in the trees above, he and Arod led the elves to safety.

The twins had also found their horses and were making their own way to follow Gwarod when another horse caught up beside them. Eowyn rode as a woman of Rohan, and her horse eagerly pushed passed the twins. Her single golden braid flew out behind her while her sword struck down any enemy in front. The twins glanced at one another, then rode faster. They were occasionally slowed by men who tried to bring down their horses, but eventually they broke free of the melee and raced in the direction they had seen their friends disappear. Eowyn slowed down enough to follow the twin's tracking, but she was the first to point to one of the few houses that had not been burned. "My heart tells me they are within."

"As does mine," Elladan agreed.

"So do my eyes," said Elrohir, pointing to the tracks.

With an elvish grace, Eowyn leapt from the back of her horse. The twins did the same, aiming their arrows at the door while Eowyn used her sword to break the lock. The twin's arrows instantly disabled the two guards in the front room, and the three continued into the main room where they found Gwarod and two more guards leaning over a map. Two more arrows slew the men who would have slain the princes. Eowyn pointed her sword at Gwarod's chest. "_Where are they?_" she growled.

Gwarod did not appear phased; he had always been a clever man. The situation had changed, and his plans adapted. "You want them? Let me go and I will tell you."

Elladan fit another arrow in his bow, "How about you tell us and we don't kill you? That arrow in your arm must have hurt; how would you like to be filled with them?"

The man only laughed, "You can't kill me! I am the only one left who knows where your precious princes are!"

Eowyn glowered at the man, "Let me kill him now. We waste our time when we could easily search for them on our own."

"Maim him if you will, but leave him alive," said Elrohir. "Let him be brought to justice."

"Maim has its merits," hissed Eowyn, letting her sword drift lower than the man's chest. There was a low groan from a room nearby and the sound of breaking glass. Her expression immediately changed to one of fear. "Faramir!" She ran for the room with her sword still drawn while Elladan kept his bow trained on Gwarod. Elrohir grabbed a length of elvish rope from a nearby shelf and began to bind the man's arms with it.

Eowyn dropped her sword when she entered the room and stood frozen for a moment. The room itself had been torn apart during the original battle, and a dark-haired elven warrior she did not recognize lay dead on the floor in a pool of congealed blood. There was a pile of useless items next to the warrior, presumably left behind by those who had stolen the elf's weapons. Not far from him lay another body facing away from Eowyn, a poisoned crown lying on the floor just above his head. She recognized it all the same, for there was a small tattoo on his left shoulder. The image was distorted by a whip mark that ran diagonally across it, but under the blood she could still see a golden arrow on top of a green leaf – Legolas' emblem. The elf prince did not appear to be breathing.

What took Eowyn's breath, however, was the figure in the corner. Faramir was leaning against one of the walls, his head lolling to one side. His bound hands dragged against the floor, and his fingers were still stretched toward a pile of broken glass. Eowyn fell to her knees on the opposite side of him and gently maneuvered him into her lap. She flung away his mocking crown that still clung to his forehead and put her fingers against his neck. At the pressure, Faramir groaned and his eyes fluttered. "Eowyn…"

She smiled through tears, "Faramir! Oh my love, what have they done to you?" A gentle hand ran through his hair, easing out some of the tangles.

He struggled to speak, "I fear they have…ended me. Or have I?"

"No, no they cannot have! I will not let you die!"

"Eowyn…I am sorry. I made a…mistake. I do not have much time…to spend with you," he gasped.

"Please, Faramir, please do not do this," she cried. "Elladan and Elrohir are here, and Aragorn is close by! He healed you once, he can do so again!"

Faramir reached up, brushing a tear from her cheek. "Do not ask for the impossible, even…from the greatest of kings. You are…wiser than that. Stronger."

Eowyn shook her head, "Not that strong. After all that's happened; after everything we've done, how could the Valar will this?"

"Don't worry, my love. It was a chance…for Captain Faramir to show his quality," Faramir laughed. "Oh, what have I done to you? I…am sorry.

"You have shown your quality many times over, as a steward of Gondor and a lord of Ithilien. You have no need to apologize."

"No, you do not…understand. I have to tell you…"

Eowyn kissed his mouth, ignoring the blood that was transferred to her lips. "Hush now, love. Save your strength."

"Let me spend it, for it…is about to run out. I am going to sleep…soon. But I must tell you…ah, I do not remember that. It can't be…important," his eyes closed again and his breathing became shallow.

"Stay awake, stay with me, please!" Eowyn begged.

Faramir blinked slowly, "Awake…yes, that was it. Legolas said…awake again."

Eowyn looked over to the dead elves, bit her lip, and turned back to her husband. "I know, love, I know. He'll wake up in Valinor someday, or so they say of the elves who die. But you…Faramir, you can't leave me like this! Not after all we promised!"

"Promise…have to keep one…last promise," he whispered. "Do you…remember?"

Her tears fell freely now, "Aye. You told me that you would live to say 'I love you' one last time."

He smiled, "And I have ever been…a man of my word. I love you, Eowyn."

"I love you, Faramir…my heart, my strength," she replied.

He grasped the hand that was holding the cloak over his neck and drew it down to his chest, where his heart beat ever more slowly. "Despair not, dear heart, and…give my love…to Elboron and Faelwen."

"I will," she swore.

He smiled again and whispered, "I will see you again." Then his eyes shut and Eowyn could not feel his heart beat.

"Faramir? Faramir?!" her calls turned to screams. "_Faramir_!"

**XXX**

Elladan and Elrohir looked at one another when they heard Eowyn scream. Quickly Elrohir tied Gwarod to the table and ran after his brother, who had already followed the scream. He skidded to a stop next to Elladan, and surveyed the room in horror. The dead warrior and Legolas lay in the same position they had been when Eowyn entered, and she clung to Faramir's body next to the wall he had been leaning against. "No!" Elladan exclaimed. "We cannot be too late!"

The twins ran to their long-time friend, praying that he lived yet. They did not turn him for fear of injuring his back further, but knelt on either side of him and searched for life. "Oh, Legolas," whispered Elrohir. He had started to press his fingers against a wrist, but noted the broken hands and changed to his neck.

Elladan finished the thought, gently brushing his fingers over the mutilated ears, "What have they done to you, mellon-nin?" They received no answer in voice, beat, or breath. Elrohir shook his head and ran his hands over the face, relaxing the expression to one of peace.

"No good will come of this," he muttered. "Aragorn…Gimli…the hobbits…Thranduil…ai, Thranduil! This is likely to kill his ada. No good will come from what those humans have done!"

"I know, gwador," Elladan replied. "I know." He removed his cloak and placed it over Legolas' body. The cloak was Lorien-made; Legolas would not have minded lying under it for a little while until they could find a more appropriate shroud.

Elrohir glared at him. "How can you be so calm? They murdered our kin! They destroyed the woods! They will destroy so many more lives through the ones they loved!"

Elladan did not look up. "I know."

Elrohir shook with anger, always the one to turn to rage when his emotions took control. "Did you not love him, Elladan, was he not your brother too?! Look at him, 'Dan, look what they have done! They tortured him, mutilated him, murdered him! Yet you sit, you just sit and stare at your own hands!"

Elladan glanced up, "My hands…'Ro, my hands are weak and slow. I should have been faster, fired before they had a chance to escape…Valar, it is all my fault!" His eyes dropped back down to the blood-covered hands.

That broke the spell of Elrohir's anger, and he instantly embraced his twin. "Oh Elladan, it is not! Look at my hands, they are far weaker. I was late as well, and I missed my mark. I shot a tree, a tree! My aim was for Gwarod as they ran, but my hands shook so much…in the end we are no better that those that killed them." Both twins spared a look to where Eowyn sat, cradling Faramir in her lap.

"I fear in this we living come off the worst. My heart aches," Elladan replied.

His twin nodded, "As does mine. I think, 'Dan, that we may be leaving earlier than planned. I do not know if I wish to stay here, without Ada, without 'Las…"

Elladan gave a brief shake of his head, indicating silence. Outside there was the rumble of horses hooves and the sounds of battle, coming ever closer. "We will speak more of it later," he murmured. "Aragorn approaches, and he shall be sorely shaken by this, as will the brave Lady Eowyn. We will save our true mourning for later, and be strong for them now. Someone must sing their spirits safely to Mandos, to tell them we will be well and they shall be missed until we are reunited again."

In the main room, Gwarod also heard the battle coming closer. He sneered, and took up a new battle cry that filtered through the open doorway, "The Princes of Ithilien are Dead!" His allies repeated the call in an attempt to disarm the elves and noble men, but to the surprise of all Aragorn did as well.

His face was stern and his eyes glinted with anger. All enemies cowered before the king of the Reunited Kingdom as he bellowed, "The Princes of Ithilien are dead! All hail the victorious dead!"

Both men and elves shouted back, "All hail the victorious dead!" Their hearts filled with righteous rage, and the wicked men were quickly killed or captured. The call, meanwhile, spread quickly. Rúmil and several other elves guided their friends to borrowed horses, shooting down the enemy as they went. They carried the cry back towards Gondor, and any messengers who heard spread it far and wide, though many were unaware of its true meaning. "The Princes of Ithilien are dead! All hail the victorious dead!"


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

Thanks for the reviews! Special thanks to ebbingnight for noting my spelling - I fixed it (I think)! As for the rest, ye shall have to wait and see.

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The fighting had slowed, with the elves and the men of Gondor victorious. Those who remained of the enemy camp were taken as prisoners to be judged upon the return to Gondor for the destruction of Ithilien – and the murder of her princes. Gwarod himself was dragged from the guest house screaming, "You haven't heard the last of us! You're all fools to align yourselves with these worthless, wicked elves! They will kill you in your sleep! Get your filthy hands off of me!" He spotted the king and spat at Aragorn's feet. "You are dirt, and your family is an abomination!"

Aragorn glared at the man. "You are not helping yourself. Take him away, make sure he is always watched!" With a heavy heart, Aragorn turned from the scene to the sight he dreaded more. He hesitated at the doorway to the guest house, but remembered that as a king he could not show his fears and stepped inside. The enemy guards who had been in the front room were being healed and arrested, while those in the main room were carried away as corpses. Aragorn turned to a door on his left and paused once more. Even from here he could see Elladan and Elrohir speaking quietly to one another over a tell-tale lump under Elladan's cloak. Not far from them Eowyn cradled the body of her husband, hugging him to her breast as she sang softly into his ear. Aragorn grimaced at the sight; only a wife could ignore the ruin of what she sang into. His men had already informed him that the lady was refusing to release Faramir's body, and they were too intimidated to even try speaking with the twins.

Elrohir looked up when Aragorn moved into the room. Both twins stood up with hands over their hearts and their eyes cast down on the covered body before them. "Hiro hyn hîdh ab 'wanath. I Melain berio hyn." (May they find peace after death. May the Valar keep them.)

Aragorn stepped closer, unable to look down yet. "Sen tîr? They are dead?" (Is it true?)

"Aye, Aragorn," whispered Elrohir. "They are dead."

The king took a deep breath and let his eyes close for a moment. "We will need to…to send missives, and quickly. I at least must write one to the king of Eryn Lasgalen within the hour, for it is the king's right to know…and one to Aglorand, for Gimli's sake. Certainly one also to Prince Imrahil in Dol Amroth on behalf of Faramir, and to King Eomer; then again Eowyn may wish to send that herself. Perhaps one to the Shire…yes, the hobbits will want to know…" he trailed off, the mere thought of bringing such ill news to the gentle Halflings enough to break his heart anew.

Elladan put his arm on Aragorn's shoulder. "Fear not. We shall help to see you through that duty, and all others related to this matter."

"Of course." Aragorn opened his eyes and found himself staring at the covered body of his dearest friend. The kingly demeanor fell away, and he was Estel again, Elrond's little foster son who followed the twins and their friends like a puppy. "May I…I need to…to see him."

Elladan nodded, "Gaze as you will, but be warned that what has been done is…"

"Unforgivable," Elrohir finished, his hands clenching into fists. The twins' shared expression was one that Aragorn could not recall seeing in the worst of times, and only those who had known them at the time of their mother's attack had seen it before. With a heavy heart Aragorn knelt, but before he could pull back even the hood of Elladan's cloak a hand grabbed his. Surprised, Aragorn looked up at his foster-brother. "Perhaps the King Elessar should wait to grieve until he can do so privately," Elrohir whispered, gesturing with a nod of his head toward the soldiers in the main room and the elves who were respectfully removing the other elvish warrior.

For a moment Aragorn considered ignoring the advice, but with a sigh he stood again. "Mayhap you are right. But what do we do with them? We cannot just leave them here where they were tortured and killed, but I do not know if it is wise to return them to Minas Tirith either."

"You are king, Aragorn, and for the moment that decision remains with you. However, I would council that you speak with those who were their families, who hold claim to their hearts," Elrohir replied.

Aragorn looked over at Eowyn, who still held her husband close, as though she could force her life into his body. With another sigh he walked over and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Lady Eowyn, I cannot express the depth of my sorrow for your loss. Faramir was a good man – one of the greatest I have known." She did not look up, did not stop singing. "Eowyn? Please, let him go. There is no more you can do, and I swear that his killers will meet justice now and in the ever-after. Eru surely does not welcome those who bring death to the innocent." Eowyn continued to ignore him, so Aragorn put his hand under her chin and forced her gaze on him. "Lady of the Shield-arm, awaken from this grief! Thy husband is dead, but thy children live, as do others who love thee! There is time yet to say good-bye, and you shall meet him again when you pass beyond the circles of this world in due time. For now, do as I know he would have you: live, love."

At last her eyes cleared and she allowed Faramir to be taken from her by several reverent soldiers. Behind them, Elladan and Elrohir bore Legolas outside and to a tent that had been set up for the dead. The twins allowed no other to touch the elven prince. "He is dead then, too?" asked Eowyn as she watched them leave. "We have failed all?"

"Nay, we have not failed!" Aragorn exclaimed, loud enough to bolster the spirits of all those around him. "Yes, the Princes of Ithilien are gone, but they are not defeated! They kept their kin from greater harm, and in that our errand was also successful. Rúmil has freed the other captives, and they too praise Faramir and Legolas for their valor. All hail the victorious dead!"

The soldiers repeated the call, and Eowyn's face hardened. "Faramir kept his promise, and so I shall keep mine. My king, allow me to take him home to Emyn Arnen instead of the cold stone of the Halls of Kings. He has ever belonged to Ithilien more than Minas Tirith."

Aragorn nodded, "It shall be done." He helped her to her feet and led her out into the light of the late afternoon sun.

"My lord?" called a soldier.

"Yes Dunmar?" the king replied.

"We have captured one hundred and forty men, and the rest are dead. Of our own, only eleven suffer from critical injuries. It seems the fury of the elves has saved us much trouble, and only those who had already suffered as prisoners were injured among the fair folk."

Aragorn nodded, "That is well. We shall escort the prisoners to Minas Tirith, where they shall await charges and trial in front of the council. I want a company of thirty soldiers, from the guard of the steward to accompany the Princes of Ithilien to Emyn Arnen, the human settlement of Ithilien, and they are to treat any elves who wish to accompany them with great respect."

"As you wish, sire."

Before the soldier could leave, a wood elf jumped from one of the trees nearby and called out, "King Elessar! Hold that order, if you will!"

"What is it?" he asked.

"My name is Hathel (broadsword), and I have been sent as a messenger on behalf of the elves of Ithilien," the elf explained. "We would like for our prince to remain here, should his father will it also. Though the way is yet clouded to our eyes, most believe that we wish to make this place our home once more. That shall be our greatest vengeance; though they try to destroy us, we will live beyond the lifetime of their entire bloodline and we will live some of it here."

Aragorn bowed, "Then so be it. What would the elves have us do with those who attacked them?"

By this time the twins had returned, in time to catch most of Haleth's words. They looked at the wood-elf, at the blood covering their own hands and Eowyn's clothes, and finally at the prisoners who were being led away. "_Ú-dano i faelas a hyn_," the twins growled.

Haleth nodded, hissing the translation with narrowed eyes, "Show them no mercy."

**XXX**

Arwen met the group of soldiers at the gates of the citadel on the top tier of Minas Tirith. When she had been informed Aragorn was not among those to return, nor were her brothers, she had panicked. "What has happened? Where are Aragorn and my brothers? Say not that they have fallen!"

Rúmil held up his hands, "Peace, my lady. Your husband and brothers live, as do all who left here to rescue Ithilien."

"Thank the Valar," Arwen breathed. "Yet, you look terribly aggrieved. I can feel in my heart that all is not well. Tell me your news."

Rúmil bowed his head, "I offer my condolences, Queen Arwen, for there are two who were once dear to our company that shall return to us nevermore. The Princes Legolas and Faramir are dead. King Elessar awaits in Ithilien, along with the Lady Eowyn and others who held our princes close to their hearts, for those who wish to attend their funeral rights."

Arwen gasped, "Ill news you bear indeed! How has such ill fate come to pass?!"

"I know not, for I was sent to return immediately upon receiving this news and I am but one messenger of many. I – I have been asked to return with Faramir's children to Ithilien, that they might bid farewell to their father. You and your son are also to come, if there is another who might take over the ruling of Minas Tirith for a day or so," he replied.

"The council is fair capable of keeping the peace without a monarch for a short time," she answered. "I will go with you to pay my respects, for Legolas was as dear to me as my own brothers and Faramir was fast becoming so. Besides, I cannot leave my lord alone in his grief."

"As you wish," said Rúmil. "Might I have a brief repast and bathe before I seek out the children? I would not come to them so fresh from the field."

She nodded, "Come with me, and I shall send your brother to you as well before over-long. He has healed quickly and can move about with little aid."

"My thanks."

Half an hour later, as he tried to dry out his hair, Orophin appeared at the door along with a maid and a tray of food. The maid laid out the food for them and bowed herself out. Orophin used a pair of crutches the healers had constructed for him to settle himself on a chair in the guest room. He and Rúmil had shared the room during this stay in Minas Tirith, although this was the first time they had met in the room together as Orophin had been in the healing wing and then Rúmil had been away in Ithilien. "How is your leg?" asked Rúmil.

"Well enough, and of little note compared to what I have heard from the queen. Is our prince truly dead?"

Rúmil sighed, "Yes, as is Faramir. I managed to rescue most of our other companions, but others had died as prisoners before we managed to return."

Orophin closed his eyes and whispered a prayer for the dead before facing his brother again. "It is a grave day for elves and men. As for us…it also holds a different sort of import. You do remember what we agreed to, when we first came to live in Ithilien under Legolas?"

"I do, though I never expected it to be a promise we had to keep."

Orophin nodded in agreement. "Now that it is, what shall we do?"

"Keep our word, of course!" Rúmil exclaimed. "We will become princes in our own right, and together we shall lead the elves of Ithilien beyond this tragedy. In the name of our brother, in the name of our friends, we shall keep the last of the elves alive and well in Arda so long as they wish to stay."

With a grin, Orophin replied, "Indeed we shall, brother, and may we keep them long. I have yet to hear the call of the sea, although I will not deny that I grow as weary as our kin of the strife of men."

"As do I." Rúmil began to eat in measured bites, an attempt to prolong the blissful ignorance of Faramir's children.

Orophin caught his brother's unease and leaned forward to take his hand. Rúmil looked up. "I am glad you have returned to me, Rúmil," he said seriously.

Rúmil ran his own fingers gently over the bandages on Orophin's leg, "As I am glad to find you still here."

"I am always here by your side, even when we are miles away, just as Haldir is. When that ghost is not enough, we will find strength in one another."

"You are quoting our lady's grandsons, Phin, and that is a dangerous thing to do," he smiled.

Orophin frowned, "Not when they will need to hear their own advice. Many people will need our strength, brother, and together we shall give it. Let me go to the children with you, and return to Ithilien as their guardian one more time."

Rúmil shook his head, "Nay, you are still healing. You should –"

Orophin crossed his arms, "You cannot keep me from the funeral of our prince, not when we now share that title."

Rúmil grimaced and relented. "Very well. I suppose I shall be glad of the company ere the hour is out. But let me speak to the children alone, it is my duty – and you will need to visit the healers one more time to make sure that you are ready for the journey."

In a very un-elven gesture, Orophin stuck out his tongue. "Elder brothers are a trial, even when they are as little as you!" Rúmil stuck out his tongue in return, secretly heartened by the familiar banter.

**XXX**

Aragorn paused outside the small white tent and listened to the song that was coming from within. To his surprise, it was not an elvish tune but one in the language of the Rohirim. It was one of the few languages he had never had the opportunity to pick up fluently, but he understood enough to know that the song was not for Faramir alone. Eowyn's voice was joined with the perfect harmony of the twins. He took a deep breath to steady himself, for he knew that at least the elves would continue to sing long into the night. Perhaps they sang now with Eowyn because her songs were much shorter. He gently pushed back the flap of the tent and entered.

Inside were Eowyn, Elladan, and Elrohir. They were washing the dirt and blood off of their fallen kin, gently as they would have had the two been alive. To Aragorn's surprise, all three had also wasted their healing skills and supplies on the dead. He frowned a little, glad that Elrohir had paused in his singing when Aragorn entered. "What is it?" asked the elf. "I know you of all people have a right to be here, Estel, but you must understand…we need our time with him. We have been friends since –"

Aragorn held up a hand, "Before my many-times great-grandfather was born. I know, I merely wished to make sure you and the Lady Eowyn did not suffer over-much."

This time it was Eowyn who replied, although Elladan kept singing and never looked to him. "We suffer greatly, my lord. There is naught you can do to ease that, nor the pain in your own heart."

Aragorn nodded, "I understand. But why use the healing supplies on them? I know it sounds cruel to say, but it will not do them much good and those could be used to the benefit of others."

"I know our ministrations seem something of a waste," Eowyn replied, "but I at least wish to undo some of the damage Faramir has suffered. I will not have him buried in his own blood, broken and mocked."

"We wish the same for Legolas," said Elrohir. "Please, Estel, give us this last chance to offer kindness to his body before it is taken by the earth."

"You need not ask my permission," Aragorn replied with a bow. "I was foolish to judge your actions. I – I will attend to our people, and to the judgment of those who have murdered our friends."

At this Elladan looked up, and the tent grew oddly silent. Eowyn took up her song and began once more to minister to her dead husband. The twins glanced at her, at each other, and finally Elladan looked at Aragorn. "Walk with me?" he whispered in elvish. Aragorn gave a puzzled nod. Elrohir returned to the song and his work on the prince while Elladan walked with Aragorn just outside of the tent. They moved a little ways apart in order not to be overheard by the guards outside and spoke in hushed elvish. At least the humans would not hear, and any elves nearby would probably have understood it if they spoke in the Common Tongue anyway.

"What is it?" asked Aragorn. "What flaw do you see in our plans for justice? Do you believe that King Thranduil will wish for a trial on behalf of the murder of the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen as well?"

Elladan shook his head, "That is just it, Estel; neither you nor any king can charge them with the murder of Legolas and Faramir. Their capture and torture, yes, but they did not die from their wounds."

"What do you mean?" asked Aragorn.

Elladan sighed, "Do you remember the glass next to Faramir, and the other warrior we found with them?"

"Of course," he snapped.

"The warrior was from Greenwood, originally," the elf continued. "I suppose Legolas never told you about all of the traditions among his people, particularly the ones associated with the darkness that made his home known as Mirkwood for so many years. He was young when Sauron occupied Dol Guldur, but he had known a happier childhood. He used to tell us of his fears about the growing darkness and the changes in his home. I remember him speaking of one new tradition among his people in particular, one that had disturbed him greatly at the time. Elves were disappearing from the woods, and the few who ever returned were mindless with torture or grief. No one wished to suffer such a fate or be forced to betray their secrets to the shadows, so the elves of Mirkwood began to carry a vial of poison hidden somewhere on them. They would rather die than be captured, and the idea stuck with them long after Dol Guldur was abandoned."

Aragorn found his voice was quavering and swallowed twice before he managed to get the words out. "What are you trying to say?"

"That Legolas has been taught that it is better to die than to remain a captive. That if he heard Gwarod's promises to sell both he and Faramir as slaves any escape would have seemed a better option. Even if Legolas lost all of his possessions, the men would not have taken the vial from the dead warrior; I am told the vial looks very plain, and the poison no different than water. He saw an out, he took it, and he offered the same to Faramir."

"They…they poisoned themselves?" Aragorn whispered. "But why? They knew we were close, knew we could save them…"

"Mayhap they did not," Elladan replied. "They could have been told otherwise, or they simply could have been too far gone to realize what they were doing. Mayhap…mayhap they never wanted to be rescued, after so much. Their lives would not have been the same, and both of them were proud. I do not know why, but I know they drank the poison."

The king let out a cry of anguish, forgetting to lower his voice so as not to disturb the guards. "He would – _they _would not have! You can prove no such thing! They could have been forced to drink."

"I suppose, but we do not have such evidence. I am sorry, brother, I truly do not wish to consider it myself, but I have also seen my own mother struggle to return to life after similar tortures. She was not the same, and only now do I realize that her choice to sail was the only reason I never found her lying dead!" Elladan shouted in return.

Aragorn looked down. "Forgive me, I did not mean to doubt you. It is only that I hurt, and I had hoped not to hurt like this again."

Elladan's gaze turned to ice. "Pain is a part of life here in Middle Earth where all things die, whether they are meant to or not. You are a king of these lands, you have accepted the mortality of my sister along with her love, and now you will accept this. Men are made to accept such things and so you feel them strongly, but briefly. You will heal in a short time, you will forget no matter how you wish to deny it, and then you shall suffer no more. You have no idea what it is to hurt, not for an eternity."

Aragorn was left staring as his foster-brother disappeared into the tent, a new kind of pain burrowing its way into his heart.

**XXX**

Rúmil took a deep breath. With an encouraging but sad smile from Arwen, he knocked on the door. "Enter!" called Eldarion.

He opened the door. The playroom was now filled with stone-carved animals, the ones Gimli had created for Eldarion's second birthday. Eldarion sat in between Faelwen and Elboron, apparently succeeding in keeping them engaged in the game and out of trouble. As soon as they looked up, Rúmil was instantly beset by Eowyn's children. "Rúmil!" they called. Well, Faelwen managed to get close enough to the appropriate pronunciation. Elboron gasped as he looked behind the elf. "Oh, Queen Arwen!" he did his best to bow as his father had taught him.

Arwen smiled sadly, "None of that now, pen-ith. Will you come with me for a moment, Eldarion? I have a need of you assistance elsewhere, and Rúmil will watch the children."

"Yes, nana," Eldarion replied, untangling his long legs as he stood to follow his mother. At the rate he was growing, he was sure to be taller than either of his parents one day. Arwen gave Rúmil a nod as they left, closing the door behind them. Rúmil sighed.

"Rúmil, where is our mother?" asked Elboron. "Didn't she go with you to rescue dad and Prince Legolas?"

The elf knelt, so that he was closer to the height of the children, and put a hand on each of their shoulders. "Your mother is still in Ithilien, along with the king and many others who went with us. They have gotten rid of all the bad men who tried to hurt you, and now they are waiting for you to come. I am going to bring you with me to Ithilien tomorrow."

"We go home!" Faelwen happily exclaimed.

Rúmil closed his eyes briefly. "Yes, home. But it will not be the home you are used to. Elboron, Faelwen, I…I am taking you back so that you can say good-bye to your father and Prince Legolas. We tried very hard to save them, but we were too late. They are dead, and I am so, so sorry."

The children blinked at him. "Daddy is…dead?" asked Faelwen. She did not seem to understand what the word really meant.

Rúmil nodded, "Yes, he has gone beyond the circles of this world."

"But he'll be back, won't he? And Leg'las too?" she said. Her voice quavered on the edge of tears.

"No, little one. They…they can't come back, no matter how much they wish that they could." Rúmil tried to be a bit more encouraging, as he had heard mothers do with other children when war-bound fathers never returned. "But your father will always be with you, in your heart, and he will –"

"You're lying."

The venom in Elboron's voice surprised Rúmil, and for a moment the elf floundered for a response. "But of course not, Elboron; your father loved you, and love carries beyond death. I truly believe that he will always –"

"NO!" Elboron shouted. He stood, shaking fists clenched at his sides and tears rolling down his face. "You're lying! He's not dead at all, he can't be! He and momma promised that they would never let anything happen! You said that you could bring him back, you said that you could save him and Legolas, so were you lying then or are you lying now?! We trusted you, you promised!"

Rúmil rose to his feet and reached toward the boy with open palms. The child backed away. "Elboron, I am so sorry. I – we tried, I swear on my life that we did everything we could. I would give up my own life if that would bring just your father back, but that is beyond the power of any elf or man!"

"If you really tried, than why aren't they alive?!" Elboron screamed.

By now Faelwen was sobbing in a heap on the floor, her hands over her ears. "Stop it! Stop it! I want mommy!"

"Shut up, Fae, mommy isn't here and daddy is never coming back!"

"Elboron, stop this!" said Rúmil. "I know you are upset, but there is no need to yell at your sister." He took a step forward. "Please, come here. I understand your pain, for I have lost many to death or Valinor, including my father, mother, and my oldest brother. Let me comfort you, and together we can mourn…"

"No! How could you ever understand? Get away from me, leave me alone! I hate you, Rúmil!" Elboron screamed. He ran past the elf and out the door, thankfully into the arms of the queen who had stayed nearby. She nodded to Rúmil from the doorway as she soothed the boy, and he returned to Faelwen. Faelwen willingly snuggled into his embrace, quickly soaking his tunic with her tears. Rúmil sung a lullaby for her, and eventually the poor child fell asleep against him. He did not see Elboron again that day, but was assured by Eldarion that the steward's son was in Arwen's gentle care. Gondor's prince himself was very much like his father when experiencing grief: all others came first, while he stoically put aside the feeling until his mother came to him that night and he was allowed to be a teenager again.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

Sorry about the longer-than-usual wait, and I'm afraid the length of the chapter will not make up for it! It's been a very busy month. But, now I'm out of school for summer, and after this chapter things are going to heat up again for our friends in Ithilien. Enjoy!

* * *

Gimli had been looking over the plans to further the beauty of his home in the caves of Aglorand when his favorite nephew, Kirin, entered with a letter bearing the official seal of the King of the Reunited Kingdoms. He happily set aside the work to read the letter from his friend. But as he read, his face became white. By the time he reached the end, he groaned as if in pain and doubled over, clutching his heart. Kirin, who had remained in the room to ask for news of Gondor, saw this and called for help before gripping the Lord of the Glittering Caves tightly by the shoulder. After a moment Gimli pushed the hand away and banished the offered help from his study, even as he sank heavily into a stone chair.

"My lord?" called Kirin. "Uncle Gimli?"

Gimli kept one hand over his chest, "I'm sorry, Kirin. I just felt as if someone had taken an axe to my chest and cut out my heart." He breathed carefully for a moment before sitting up again and taking a grateful swig of the ale his nephew brought him.

"Is there ill news from Gondor?" asked Kirin.

Gimli raised a shuddering hand and handed off the letter. "Read it yourself. I will not dare utter the words, and I shall not believe it until I have seen him for myself!"

After only a few lines, Kirin let the letter fall to Gimli's desk. He bowed his head, not only because he knew that his uncle would be greatly aggrieved, but also because he had grown to like the strange, tall creature who shared such a close friendship with Gimli. Elves were odd beings, most assuredly, but Gimli too had been odd when he returned from the war and the elves were not so bad as Kirin's grandfather had once led him to believe. "Will you go to Ithilien then, so soon after you have returned home?" he whispered.

"Yes," Gimli replied, already drafting a set of instructions for his second-in-command.

"Let me go with you!" exclaimed Kirin. "Please, Uncle Gimli? You always promised to take me somewhere on an adventure."

Gimli looked over his nephew carefully. "Indeed I did, lad. But this is not an adventure, it is…" he stopped for a moment, the words trapped in his mouth. "It is likely to be a funeral, for Aragorn would not lie about such a thing to me." Although he remained stoic, the grief played clearly across his face. It only made Kirin more determined to join him.

"Please! He was my friend too, in some ways, for if you loved him then I did as well. I am of age and I can take care of myself, you're the one who taught me to fight!" Kirin pleaded, offering his uncle the helmet Gimli had worn throughout his time as one of the Nine Walkers.

Gimli pushed it back in the younger dwarf's hands, "Keep it; I have a new one, and I think it will suit you. I was going to offer it to…the elf when I…when he finally gave into those blasted gulls, and now…well, you keep it."

Kirin took the helmet reverently. "I am truly sorry for your loss, uncle. Allow me to bear it with you?"

Gimli sighed, "Very well."

"Thank you, uncle!"

"Don't be so hasty, lad! You have to ask your mother first, or she will have my head!" Despite the darkness that began to creep into Gimli's heart and mind, his nephew did manage to keep the grief from overtaking him. Until the eve, at least, when he was left alone to his thoughts.

**XXX**

Orophin sighed; they had taken several carriages, well-suited enough for the terrain, on their trip to Ithilien along with several more soldiers. He understood the necessity of the wagons since they had children and several women, including the queen, with them, but he was not happy to be forced to ride in one. He would have at least offered to drive but he had no notion of how, and he had been unable to convince his brother or Arwen that he was well enough to ride a horse. Instead he shared a carriage with Eldarion, since he had been separated from his mother for the purposes of their separate safeties in the advent of an attack.

Two more women rode with them. Lady Rían, a pretty young woman with auburn hair and brown eyes, was a lady of the court and had grown up with both of the steward's sons. It was whispered that she would have married Lord Boromir if had he returned from the War of the Ring, but all who knew the truth were dead now save the lady herself. She had once been a kind, lively girl, but her demeanor had changed when word of Boromir's death reached Minas Tirith. These days she remained sternly solemn, and it was whispered that she planned to take vows of chastity and remain in the service of Queen Arwen for the rest of her days.

Their other traveling companion was very old. Lady Firiel had been Faramir's nurse when he was a child, and though she was too old now to be the nurse for Faramir's children she watched over them as she could. Firiel was a strict woman, but she had understood much about Faramir that his father had not and provided him with books of lore and tales of the things she had seen in her long life. She had been very close with Denethor's youngest son, for he had never forgotten her as he grew up.

This made for a sad caravan, and the ride felt awkward to all involved. Occasionally Eldarion made an attempt at conversation to which Orophin would attempt to respond, and Lady Firiel might offer a sentence or two before the carriage fell into silence again. Lady Rían never spoke a word, and responded with a slight gesture of her head to any questions she had to answer. In the beginning Firiel had made attempts to comfort the girl, but Rían did not appear to notice as she gazed at the country passing by them. Orophin sighed again; it was sure to be a very long day for all of them, and he would be relieved when they reached Ithilien in the morning. He hoped that what remained of the elven grace in those woods would heal them all.

**XXX**

Aragorn sat alone in the tent which housed the bodies of both Legolas and Faramir. They would stay here until the soldiers returned with those who wished to accompany the ones who had passed. Hopefully that would be by late morning of the next day, for he had recently received word via Arwen's messenger hawk that the company planned to stop only briefly at nightfall, even with the women and children included in their party. Aragorn only wished he could wait a little longer; there were others too far away to reach Ithilien within the appropriate time for a burial service. The woodelves had assured him their kin and king would understand the need to be rid of the body, no matter how well it had been taken care of.

There was a small table next to him, on which he was attempting to compose one more letter. It was not the most difficult he had needed to send that night, but he seemed unable to deliver any more bad news, especially not to such goodly people.

"_My Dear Friends," _it began.

"_I hope this letter finds you well, with green lands and full stomachs. I regret that I must encroach on such peace with a news that breaks my own heart, for all is not well here. The world is still filled with a great many evils, and not all of them can be tracked down so easily. The work of our Fellowship is not over, but for some of us it is."_

Aragorn read the last line out loud, shook his head, crumbled up the paper, pushed it aside, and started anew.

"_My Dear Friends,_

_The elven settlement in Ithilien was attacked five days ago. Much of it was burned to the ground, and many of the elves were killed as they tried to escape. Thank the Valar, more came to us in Minas Tirith for refuge, but I have been told that those who found no way out were taken prisoner. Legolas and Faramir, who was visiting with his family, were among these._

_Lady Eowyn warned us of what had happened, we tried very hard to reach them, but we were too late. There are only twenty prisoners left of the original thirty-eight, and these are in such conditions that…"_

Aragorn shook his head, "Too impersonal, too graphic." He started again.

"_My Dear Friends,_

_Legolas and Faramir are dead. I am sorry."_

"Too abrupt."

"_My Dear Friends,_

_I hope this letter finds you well, with green lands and full stomachs. I regret that I must encroach on such peace, for all is not well here. There was a terrible attack on the elven settlement of Ithilien, too like the scourging of your Shire for my liking. Now Ithilien has been purged of those evil men, but it has come with a very high price. The Princes of Ithilien are dead._

_Legolas and Faramir saved many lives, I assure you, including those of Lady Eowyn and her children, but were themselves captured with thirty-six others. When we arrived to give aid we were too late for all but twenty, and when our friends were found they were beyond aid._

_I know that Legolas held each of you close to his heart and had plans to visit the Shire with Gimli this summer, assuming all was well with their lands. That may be of little comfort, but I trust that your stout hobbit hearts shall find better strength in one another. It seems our Fellowship is sundered once more, and I am desperately sorry that it is so. Fear not for Frodo, Master Gamgee, he is with a company who sees far. They will know of this, and they will keep him from grief just as he shall keep them._

_Faramir thought of you dearly as well, and Eowyn has promised to enclose his last letter to Master Took. She apologizes that it is incomplete and she is unable to send a note of her own, especially to Master Brandybuck. Forgive her quickly, little ones, she suffers much._

_In two days a funeral shall be held for both. I am sorry that I cannot wait longer, in order to have you most honorable hobbits in attendance. If you wish to travel to their resting place, please send a message in return via this bird. I wish to send guards for you, in order to keep you safe. This tragedy has only opened my eyes to see how much work still must be done to make this Middle Earth wholesome once more. _

_With my deepest sympathies,"_

At last, Aragorn came to the end of his letter and read it over. He decided he would never do much better, and considered how to sign his name.

Outside he could hear the continued laments of the elves, and above all other voices he heard those of Elladan and Elrohir blending in perfect harmony. He looked away from the parchment and stared at the corpse of his long-time friend. Listening to the songs of his death, bidding him and Faramir to sleep in eternal peace, Aragorn felt his will break. He had tried to say his goodbyes, yet he seemed unable to let go of the immortal. He would never admit it aloud, but it was easier to accept the death of Faramir. The steward was human, one without elven blood to lengthen his lifespan. Death was expected, eventually, and Aragorn knew he would have outlived Faramir anyway. Legolas was a different matter; Aragorn had expected to have the elf at his side until the day he drew his last mortal breath. Legolas had always been there, even when Aragorn was a child frightened by the thunder storm. Filled with memories of the prince, and of all the memories they could never make, the stoic king finally let the grieving man break through, and Aragorn began to sob as he had not since he was a child.

He awoke some hours later to a firm shaking. He blinked, first at the desk he was leaning on and then at his foster brother, who looked as though he could have also used a rest. The candles had burned low, some already burnt out, and the light of dawn filtered through the walls of the tent. "Morning?!" Aragorn exclaimed. "Forgive me, I did not mean to sleep, I only…"

"'Tis alright, Estel," said Elrohir. "We understand, as do your people."

Instantly he was King Ellessar again. "How are the rescued elves?"

"Broken," Elrohir answered honestly. "I do not doubt that most of them will sail before the year is out, if they do not fade before they are able to board a ship. But they want to see justice."

Aragorn nodded, "I will do my best to give that to them." He looked curiously behind Elrohir, surprised that there was no identical shadow.

Elrohir sighed, "He is not here."

"I have made him angry," Aragorn looked down.

"He is angry at everything right now, but I believe him to be angry at himself above all others. It will pass; it always does. My anger burns hot and fast, while his boils slowly. Let him alone for a while, so that he can get past the worst of his grief."

"Is it true?" Aragorn asked suddenly.

Elrohir frowned, "Is what true?"

"What Elladan said. Will you truly never forget? Will this hurt you forever?" he said.

"Yes and no," Elrohir answered after a moment. "We will always remember, and to think of these deaths – or yours, one day – might cause us pain, but we will also always remember the lives of the ones we lost, and in our dreams we may walk with them again."

"Do you ever regret your decision to accept that eternity?"

Elrohir smiled, "Only as much as Arwen regrets her decision to accept your mortality. So, yes, I regret it very much, and no, I do not regret it at all. It is difficult to explain; I will see nana and ada again, but you and Arwen, and all of this that we love…sometimes it is enough to make me change my mind. Nay, think not on us or our decisions. We must think of what is happening now, so we might also get over our grief and attend to others."

Aragorn nodded, "I am trying. I wrote the last letter, the one for the hobbits. Will you read it over?"

Elrohir nodded and picked up the parchment, scanning quickly. "It is well enough; no letter delivering such news can be good."

"How should I sign it? They know me as so many things."

"Perhaps, but I think you already know the answer. What have they always called you?"

Aragorn smiled a little, "Strider. I think I will always be Strider the ranger to them."

Elrohir gave back the letter. "As you will always be Estel to us." Aragorn signed the letter, placing Gondor's seal on it once it had been folded. He and Elrohir left the tent just as a young soldier ran up to them.

"My lords," he said with a bow, "The queen has just arrived with her caravan."

Aragorn looked to his brother, who took the sealed letter with a grin, "Go on, I can see that you need her. I will find a sturdy bird and meet you later. Perhaps I can coax Elladan to come see his nephew; he has always had a soft spot for Eldarion."

**XXX**

Gwarod scowled at the men and elves guarding him. More elves, thinking they could put their spells over him! But he was not so weak-minded as these other men. He knew that the elven lady called Arwen had worked her magic on the king in order to gain the throne, and now their half-elf bastard son was nearly old enough to claim the kingship if any 'accident' befell his father. Surely the elf-bitch would kill her husband once the boy came of age, and the whole city would see her fake grief and give away their hearts. Fools! Fools, all of them, to trust these wicked elves and to let them run their lives even when their time had passed. The human race needed men like Gwarod to lead them into their place as the most superior being in Middle Earth. The dwarves should work for them, and the elves should be forced to leave or killed – they thought too high of themselves to be of use, and they liked the taste of human blood.

Of course, Gwarod himself had acquired something of a taste for elvish blood over the years. He smirked to himself as he thought of all the creatures he had watched bleed out, purged of their heritage and begging at the humans' feet while they died. He was disappointed not to have seen the elf-prince and his thrall, Faramir, die himself, but he was glad they were gone. Yet their influence still hung over these people! And those twins, the king listened to them more than any of his human councilors!

Now more elves had arrived, including the bitch and the brat. They had come to bury their fellows and to watch the king declare Gwarod's death sentence; he was sure that was what he would receive, for the king was deeply under elven influence. But the trick would be on them! He was not out of ideas yet, and he would see them all dead before the end! He would free himself, then the others, and they would not make the mistakes they had before. This Ithilien was unsalvageable, filled with elvish magic – they would raise it to the ground, kill all the elves, and start again with the humans. Gwarod promised himself that he would kill the boy, he would watch the last of the elven-spawn bleed into the dirt while the forest burned and the elf-bitch watched. There were weaknesses in them, and now he only needed to bide his time.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR, BUT I do own the bits of poetry included in this chapter. I can't imagine why you'd want to, but please don't take it without asking.

Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad (and yet not) that Gwarod seems believable. And, even better, I've finally gotten past the writer's block I've been having for this story, so the chapters should be a little more interesting now! Good for readers, bad for characters...enjoy!

* * *

Galdor, loyal butler and friend of the elvenking, entered when bid bearing a letter he had just taken from the leg of a hawk. "There is a message for you, from Gondor if I am not mistaken."

Thranduil did not bother to look up, "Is it of such import that no one else can oversee the arrangements?"

"It is addressed to you personally and it bears the seal of the king himself," Galdor replied. "It was tied to a hawk with a red ribbon and a green leaf."

Thranduil paled. A red ribbon meant it was urgent, and the green leaf probably meant it had something to do with his son. "Why did you not mention that in the first place?!" Thranduil grabbed the letter from Galdor's hands. Halfway through, he dropped the paper and collapsed back into his chair with a cry of the utmost anguish.

"King Thranduil!" Galdor shouted, instantly at his lord's side. A few other elves materialized, having heard a commotion from the king's study.

"Shall we fetch a healer?"

"I fear so. Has he been poisoned?"

"Nay, the guards would have seen someone, and surely you do not think I would do such a thing!"

The voices faded in and out of Thranduil's ears, all his thought turned inward on the echos of a few short words. _Dead. Your son is dead. _The rest did not matter. Nothing mattered. Ice grasped at his heart, the cold penetrating so sharply that he was sure his very blood had frozen. He had only ever been in this much pain once before, when his dear wife was found dead in the forest.

"Legolas…" he whispered. "_Ion nin_…"

"My…my king?" called Galdor. "Are you well?"

"My son…" the king repeated.

Sharing a worried glance with the two other elves, Galdor moved to his knees in front of the king and gently took his hands. "Thranduil? Come now, mellon-nin, look at me. What news of the prince?"

When Thranduil looked up, Galdor was surprised to see tears clinging to his eyelashes. "Galdor?"

"I am here. Tell me what ails you."

"Legolas…" Thranduil looked back at the letter which had fallen in his lap and picked it up with shaking hands. He looked at Galdor again. "My son is dead."

The elves met this with mummers and gasps, "But…but how, when?" asked Galdor.

"I…let me read," said Thranduil, hoping the second half of the letter would deny the first. His hopes were in vain, for Aragorn's words just continued to offer apologies to the now-grieving father and promises that those responsible for his injuries would find justice. Something in Thranduil's mind snapped back into place, and he sat up straight again, angrily wiping his eyes. "Humans. Humans have killed my son, and this human offers condolences?!"

Galdor tightened his grip on the king's knee. "King Elessar is a noble man, sire, I am sure he did everything in his power…"

Thranduil stood, easily ridding himself of the butler's grip. "I ride for Ithilien at midday. All who wish to come to see their prince may, but I want to know what has become of my son!" Just as quickly, the burst of furry faded and Galdor found himself supporting most of his friend's weight. "And if he cannot make the journey with me, I fear I shall never return to these woods again."

**XXX**

Aragorn lay on a cot in his tent, with Arwen sitting next to him and pressing a wet cloth to a scratch that Aragorn had left unattended on his arm. "It truly is not necessary, meleth."

Arwen shook her head, "You may convince soldiers that it is nothing, ranger, but I am your wife and I am the daughter of Elrond. This will get infected if you do not take care of it."

"Have you foreseen such an end for me?" asked Aragorn, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"No, but I know you well," she replied. "Besides, this will give us a moment to ourselves. I suppose you have not slept since I last saw you?"

"Not intentionally, but I did sleep for several hours last night."

"Mmm."

"What?"

Arwen raised her eyebrow, "I do not believe you."

Aragorn cringed, "Don't do that, it makes you look like your father!"

"Is that so wrong?"

"It is when I still wish to make love to you."

Arwen hit his uninjured arm. "Aragorn!"

He grinned up at her, "Yes, meleth?"

She shook her head again. "You are hopeless. Come on, sit up now; this is not the time or the place for loving."

Aragorn sighed as she helped him to sit. "I know not what I should do. These men have committed unforgivable atrocities, yet their reasons differ. Do I punish all equally? What do I do with their leader? And what will I do when King Thranduil gets here?"

Arwen rubbed his shoulders, "Shh, slowly now. Do not pile your worries, let them flow through your mind one at a time. Else you shall never be able to think at all, and your burdens will only grow."

One of the soldiers called to them from outside the tent, and Aragorn sighed again. "It seems my burdens will grow enough without my aid! We must return to this mess. Ai! What I would give to have Faramir by my side again! He was capable of the utmost wisdom in the most dire of situations."

"Then I suppose your wife will have to do," said Arwen, following him to the tent's entrance. Both blinked a little as their eyes readjusted to the sunlight, then they were able to see one of the woodelves had joined the three soldiers guarding the king's tent.

"Hathel?" Aragorn was almost certain he had the right name.

The elf bowed slightly, "I bring news from my kin who now watch our borders. They have seen two figures riding towards Ithilien, and though they are far off yet they seem to be riding with great haste. Some of the more far-sighted watchers have confirmed that they are dwarves."

Aragorn gaped. "Gimli? That's impossible! I sent him the message little more than two days ago, and the bird would only have arrived yester-noon at the earliest! He could not have gotten here so quickly!"

Arwen smiled sadly, "Have you learned nothing of the stubbornness of dwarves? It appears you will have to subdue a dwarf-lord before the elvenking."

"But Gimli does not ride!"

Hathel smiled sadly, "Lord Legolas gifted the dwarves with a dozen ponies on his last visit to Aglorand, my lord. Some traders brought them from the villages of the Misty Mountains, where the terrain is too rocky for regular horses. They seem to have thrived in the glittering caves, for I have heard tell that one will soon foal. I am, however, surprised by their speed."

Aragorn groaned, "Just what I need; mounted dwarves! Send someone out to meet them, ere the ponies expire from such a hard ride."

"But my lord," frowned Hathel, "they shall not arrive until nightfall, and we must begin the ceremonies for Lord Legolas at the setting of the sun. The rituals for humans and Noldor may differ, but a woodelf must be returned to the wood in order for their spirit to find peace in the Halls of Mandos. We believe that the earth must reclaim the body so that the fëa may be free."

Aragorn opened his mouth to argue, but Arwen lay a hand on his arm and shook her head. "We will send some of the soldiers from Gondor, then. How long does the ceremony last?"

"There will be someone with him until the sun rises again. It is symbolic; the sun's setting signifies death, the night is the journey of the fëa along the dark paths and his time in the Halls, and the sun's rising symbolizes rebirth in the Undying Lands," Hathel explained.

"Then Gimli will have his chance to say goodbye; you will allow the presence of at least one dwarf, won't you?" asked Arwen.

Hathel bowed, "My lady, all who wish peace for our lord and kin are welcome."

Aragorn sighed, "So be it."

**XXX**

Rúmil slid from Arod as he caught sight of Orophin walking out to greet them, leaning heavily on the crutches. Rúmil shook his head; he should have known his brother would not rest as he had been warned to, and now it seemed to be catching up with him. Rúmil patted Arod's neck and allowed the horse to follow him, hoping to shorten the distance for Orophin without letting his brother realize it.

He had been riding Arod as he inspected what was left of Ithilien, in part to keep the horse occupied. Arod had an unnaturally close attachment to Legolas and the elves wondered if horses, too, could die of grief if their true masters were killed. Arod seemed to be well enough, but he was not eating as well as he had been. When Orophin hobbled close enough, Arod refrained from nudging him off balance and instead blew air into the elf's face. Orophin laughed and patted the white neck, "Thank you, my friend," he said in elvish. "I am well enough. Now you had best eat something," he leaned in closer and whispered in Arod's raised left ear, "you're beginning to look like one of these Gondorian horses."

The horse snorted and immediately began to munch on the grass. Rúmil laughed, "You had best take care of yourself, brother. I would not see you waste away."

Orophin frowned, "I am fine, Rúmil! I grow weary of staying with the children, as much as I wish to offer comfort to those now bereft of their father. What have you found?"

Rúmil lowered his gaze, "What we feared. More who need burying, more blackened land."

"Sometimes the land grows more fertile after the fire."

"The dead do not."

Orophin sighed, "Nay, I suppose not. Those who have been found already will be buried with Legolas this sun-setting."

"Then let us rest now," said Rúmil. "I doubt we shall find any this night." The two brothers began to make their way through the camp to a tent they were sharing. Orophin paused momentarily and Rúmil looked at him with concern. Orophin shook his head and used one crutch to point to a tent close to their own. Raised voices were coming from within.

"…should at least talk to Estel!"

"I do not wish to see him, I do not wish to see _anyone_, and I do not need to listen to one more lament! I am not going!"

"You are being more stubborn than a dwarf!"

"I care not! I do not wish to see our dearest friend buried! I have seen enough of death!"

There was a tense silence, in which Orophin and Rúmil wordlessly decided to interfere before the arguing could continue. "Elladan? Elrohir?" Orophin called.

Muffled words came from within, then, "Orophin?"

"And Rúmil," said the other elf. "Orophin's leg is bothering him, though he will not admit it."

Orophin turned to his brother in surprise. "It is not!"

Rúmil winked to show his brother it was a ploy to gain entrance, although he truly did hope Orophin would allow the twins to take a look at his leg. "You see? I barely managed to convince him to come see you. May we enter?"

More muffled words, then, "Yes."

The brothers ducked into the tent. Elladan and Elrohir were standing at opposite ends, with Elladan looking angry and Elrohir looking exasperated. With a shake of his head, Elrohir gave the brothers a slight smile and motioned toward his cot. "Sit there, Orophin, and we will have a look at this leg of yours."

"There is nothing wrong with it," Orophin grumbled even as he sat on the bed and leaned his crutches against the side. "Nothing new, anyway."

"Old wounds can get infected, mellon nin. It is better to be careful," said Elrohir. He gently maneuvered Orophin so his bad leg was stretched out on the bed and began removing the bandages. "These are covered in dirt from your travels, anyway. You could use a fresh wrapping. Dan, could you…?"

Elladan nodded and reached under his own cot. He pulled out a pack and began searching through it for fresh bandages and the appropriate herbs. Meanwhile, Elrohir pulled away the last of the cloth on Orophin's leg and began inspecting the stitches. "Dan, hand me a clean cloth and some water, will you?" Both items were deposited on the bed, along with a fresh roll of bandages. Elladan went back to continue his search for herbs. Elrohir washed the wound gently, but Orophin still hissed when he applied more than the slightest pressure.

The younger twin looked up at his patient, "It is healing well, but you need to stop moving around so much. You are pulling on the stitching, and though I doubt it will rip if you continue as you have been your leg will continue to be sore. The knife wound was deep, if I recall, and you muscle needs time to heal as well. In a week, we can go back in and remove the inner stitches."

Orophin groaned, "Which means another week until the skin heals, for you will have to cut it! I grow tired of you healers."

Rúmil grinned, "Then stop getting yourself injured."

Elrohir shook his head and chuckled, "I do not think that is possible. Here, Dan, I think just a bit of paste for the pain will due, and then we can wrap it. No need to use fresh herbs; we still have a bottle from yesterday." Elladan only nodded as he retrieved the requested bottle, handed it to his brother, and then began to return the herbs to their original packing.

"You are awfully quiet, Elladan," commented Rúmil. "Are you alright? Surely you can offer some advice on how to deal with my brother's foolishness."

"I care not for games these days, Rúmil, and neither should you," Elladan snapped. "Our friends are dead, and if I am not mistaken you and Orophin will be taking over lordship of Ithilien? After such a tragedy, the position should not be taken lightly. It is time to begin rebuilding, enough of talk!"

Rúmil blinked in surprise, "I did not mean to make light of our situation, I only hoped to lighten your mood. Anyway, I disagree. It is time to mourn; our people cannot rebuild the land without rebuilding their hearts first. That is why neither Orophin or I intend to make good on our promise to Legolas until we deem the time to be appropriate."

"Wisely spoken, Rúmil," Elrohir said quietly. There was another tense silence as he re-bandaged Orophin's leg. His hands trembled as he tried to fold it in place to keep the cloth from unraveling, though, and he could not finish it off. After a yelp from Orophin, an identical hand covered Elrohir's. Elrohir looked over at his twin, nodded, and together they finished the folding, much to Orophin's relief. Elladan stood while Elrohir helped Orophin to move his leg back to the floor.

"I am sorry," Elladan whispered.

Rúmil put a hand on Elladan's shoulder. "You are in pain, gwador."

"Both of you are," said Orophin, taking Elrohir's hand before the twin could stand. "Let us ease it, as you did for us."

The twins looked at one another. Elladan smiled sadly, "Wise words indeed. I suppose we could use a little bit of our own medicine."

**XXX**

The sky turned yellow, orange, and pink as the sun began to make its way out of the sky. A darker blue was blooming in the east and a few clouds glowed as they made their way across the sun. The trees of Ithilien turned black against the bright background, and the sun's setting light made the forest sparkle. Even as the sun hit the sections of Ithilien that had been burnt, it lit upon a few sections of green that had already begun to grow back, stronger than ever before.

But there were many places here where the sun could not reach. Holes had been dug in the earth, and their depths remained shadowed. Figures began to emerge from the trees, and the sun could not quite reach its comfort to their skin for almost all of them wore hoods. All were singing soft, sad songs that seemed out of place within the day's beauty until others appeared bearing litters. Upon these lay the bodies of many elven men and women who had been killed during the original attack on Ithilien or over the next several days. One in particular came with a great many mourners, among them several humans including the King and Queen of the Reunited Kingdom.

Legolas was carried by several of his kin from Greenwood, for though they had agreed to allow outsiders to be present they decided the others might not understand their traditions. Since elves of Noldor, Sindar, and Silvan backgrounds had died several different kinds of tradition were taking place. All of those who were buried at sunset were either Sindar or Silvan, and most were from Greenwood – the others would be buried under the stars they loved more than the earth or woods. Aragorn, Arwen, Eldarion, the twins, Rúmil, Orophin, and Eowyn followed respectfully, along with a host of others. Eowyn's children had been left with their nurse, as the Lady Steward had deemed one funeral to be enough for them. Faramir would be buried the next day, when they traveled to the human settlement in Emyn Arnen.

The elves sang sweet, sad music, and Aragorn joined in where he could. Eowyn tried as well, to return the favor the twins had paid to her, but it appeared they knew more rohiric than she knew elvish. She did know enough from Faramir to understand that the laments spoke of the elves' various accomplishments and bid them to sleep in peace.

_Sleep safe in the halls of Námo  
May your soul find rest until  
You are renewed and called again  
In the dawning of the kingdom come_

The litters were lain beside the graves. The mourners tossed flowers and fresh leaves over the bodies of their friends, sometimes along with pieces of parchment on which they had written their final goodbyes. Then elven priests came forward to perform the funeral rites on the dead. They scattered seeds into the grave, then over the bodies, ensuring that new trees would grow strong and use the remains of the elves to strengthen them, ensuring their continuation in the earth.

_Like the setting of the sun  
Let your life fade from this world  
To grow strong and rise again  
In the dawning of the kingdom come_

The songs grew louder, stranger, and soon the melody was ruined. To the surprise of the humans present, it sounded awful. Some of the elves were screeching or moaning rather than singing, and many dropped to their knees, tears streaming down their faces. Eldarion found himself clutching his mother's hand while an equally surprised Aragorn drew closer to Arwen as well. Eowyn was glad to find Elladan and Elrohir on either side of her, for the other set of brothers she had come to rely on were involved in the horrific scene, holding onto one another as the sang in a desperate, ill-matched harmony. The twins, for once, were silent.

"The sun sets," Elrohir whispered to her. "They are experiencing the death of those they love, at least symbolically. I do not understand all the nuances, but I know they believe that they are helping to separate the spirit from the body, should it still linger. They are also releasing their own anguish, and allowing the spirits to possess them and rid themselves of their earthly pains so that they are better able to travel the paths of death and enter the halls of Mandos in peace."

"We are sorry we did not warn you," Elladan continued. "We have only witnessed this a few times before, and usually on much smaller scales. It is always a difficult thing to see, and Noldor custom dictates far more restraint so we find it hard to participate. But if you wish, you may join them."

"I do not know that I can," Eowyn replied. "It breaks my heart just to watch and listen, though I can no longer make out any words. What do they say?"

The twins looked at one another. Elladan answered, "It would break my heart to tell you, as surely as it would break yours to hear."

"They are not all saying the same thing," said Elrohir. "There are no set words for this. They are either trying to communicate with the lost ones or 'channeling' their spirits. If it is any comfort, I hear none who are speaking as Legolas, though many speak to him."

Eowyn's hands twitched at her sides. She was barely keeping herself from covering her ears or simply running away. She looked over at the royal family to see that Eldarion had his face buried in Arwen's dress and his hands over his ears. Arwen herself was singing quietly as tears fell down her beautiful face, and Aragorn was shaking as he surveyed the scene. "I do not think I shall forget this so long as I live. How long does it last?"

"Until the sun is gone and the spirits begin their journey through the darkness," said Elrohir. "You may leave whenever you wish, it is not expected for any to stay the whole night so long as there is one person with each body. The final rites will be conducted at sunrise."

Eowyn glanced at the quickly darkening sky. "I will remain at least until it is dark." She glanced up at the twins and was surprised to see they, too, were trembling. She put her hands on their arms and stared them in the eye, one at a time. "Perhaps this time you would find a better release if you were to join in this different form of mourning. I know what it is like to believe you must hold all of your emotions within, if only to maintain some form of decorum, and there is great relief to be found in breaking those barriers. No one here will care if you do not act like proper elven lords."

The twins looked at one another. "You have been spending too much time with our cousins from Lothlorien," said Elrohir, "and they must have spent too much time with our grandmother."

Elladan looked back at Eowyn. "I believe no one will care if you act like a proper princess or steward here, either." With a nod from the lady, all three added their voices to the commotion in songs they had never heard before and words that made little sense. With these went their grief, their anger, and their pain, leaving them feeling freer even if their music did nothing to help the spirits.

**XXX**

The moon had risen by the time the dwarves arrived in the camp, escorted by two guards and riding borrowed ponies. Theirs had been left with the other two guards, who would let the ponies rest before following with the animals. At the elder dwarf's urging, the guards took him directly to the king's tent. An exhausted looking Aragorn answered their calls, his eyes rimmed with red. The dwarf took no notice of the king's distress.

"Where is he?! If the bloody elf is really dead, I'm going to kill him myself!"

Aragorn held up his hands, "Peace, Gimli, please. It has been a difficult evening. I will come out and talk with you, for Arwen and Eldarion are resting inside. Give me a moment." He disappeared into the tent again, then returned looking a bit more like the King of Gondor. He took Gimli to a tent that had been set up for the dwarves on the far side of the camp, away from any elves that might still hold their blood against them. As they sat within, Aragorn gave a slight bow to the second dwarf. "Forgive my manners; I am King Elessar, though you are welcome to call me Aragorn. Welcome to Ithilien, Master Dwarves."

"Oh, um, thank you," he replied. "My name is Kirin, son of Bofur; Gimli is my uncle."

Aragorn gave Gimli a slight smile, "You never told me you had a brother."

Gimli scowled, "That is because I do not have a brother. Kirin's mother is my sister, Nossa, and Bofur is her husband; he went on that venture with Biblo and my father and saved my father's life in the Battle of Five Armies. He and Nossa were already married at that point, which is why Bofur and his brothers were invited to go with Thorin."

"Ah yes, I remember now. My apologies."

"You would not have been able to tell the difference anyway, lad, now stop trying to change the subject! Where is Legolas?!" shouted Gimli.

Aragorn sighed, "I am sorry, Gimli, but what I wrote to you was the truth. He was captured by the men who attacked Ithilien, and both he and Faramir were found dead when we arrived."

"No…" the dwarf gasped.

Kirin put a strong hand on his uncle's shoulder. "I am very sorry about your friend, uncle."

Gimli ignored his nephew and gave Aragorn a hard look. "I want to see him."

Aragorn nodded, "The elves are conducting their burial rites as we speak. The ceremony will not be finished until dawn, so I do not believe he has been buried yet. I will go with you; I had planned to return anyway, to spend a little more time with him. I am sorry that we did not wait for you, but the elves…"

"I care not. What does a funeral matter if I was not here when he needed me? I should have done something, should have sensed something was wrong…and now those blasted humans have killed him!" Gimli slammed his fists on the table, making his nephew and Aragorn jump. A few tears made their way down into his beard. "Alas for Legolas! I never thought I would get sentimental over the end of an elf."

Aragorn cleared his throat. "Gimli, there is something else I think you should know. What…what the men did to Legolas and Faramir was terrible, and they were hurt very badly, but…they did not kill either of them."

"What?! I thought you said that they were dead when you arrived? If the men did not kill them, and I certainly believe it was murder if they died from their injuries after the fact, then who did?" Gimli exclaimed.

Aragorn looked down at the table, unable to face the dwarf as he revealed the truth. "It was not murder, Gimli, but suicide. Legolas and Faramir poisoned themselves." When the dwarf did not immediately respond, he continued speaking very quickly. "You must understand, it is not the way of elves to survive after they have suffered such tortures, and I am sure Faramir felt the same. They would not have been able to continue as they once had, and even if he had survived Legolas probably would have sailed immediately. Elladan and Elrohir found a shattered glass vial next to Faramir's body, along with the body of a warrior who was originally from Greenwood. They told me it became a tradition, back when Dol Guldur was built, for the woodelves to carry poison with them so that they wouldn't…have…to…Gimli?"

To his surprise, Gimli had begun to laugh. Not a horrified, uncontrollable reaction to bad news, but a deep, hearty guffaw. Kirin looked equally shocked. "Uncle Gimli? Are you well?"

"Am I well? Am I well?" he laughed. "Of course I am! This idiot thinks he knows more about the elf than I do! He thinks Legolas poisoned himself! Oh, that is rich!"

"I am afraid it is no joke, my friend. My brothers cannot prove if they were forced to drink the poison or not, but…"

"Of course they weren't forced to drink it! The men would never have known what it was, it looks just like water!" Gimli interrupted. He had calmed himself, and now gazed at Aragorn with a strange expression. "I've seen a vial of the stuff, Legolas showed it to me! Do you know why it looks like water?"

Aragorn blinked. "Because they did not want their enemies to know what they carried?"

"No! It looks like water because it is water, you fool!" Gimli shouted, then he started to laugh again. "That clever, mad elf!"

Aragorn looked helplessly to Kirin, who shrugged and continued to gape at his uncle. "I'm afraid you've lost me now, Gimli," said Aragorn. "Legolas told the twins about the vial as well, and he said it was poison."

"No offense to your brothers, lad, but they are Noldor. Did they bother to ask any of the woodelves about it?"

"No, I do not think they did – we didn't want to tell anyone else that their lords had killed themselves," Aragorn stuttered.

"But they didn't kill themselves! In fact, Legolas and Faramir are probably still alive!"

Kirin tightened his grip on Gimli's shoulders. "Uncle, I think…I think that your grief may be making you think up things that simply cannot be true. Surely the healers would know if either were still alive?"

Gimli brushed his nephew's hand aside. "Not if they drank _that_ water, they wouldn't. Kirin, just because a stone does not move for many years and none can hear its voice, does that mean it is dead, as the humans and elves believe?"

Kirin frowned, the beginnings of comprehension appearing in his eyes. "No…no, it does not! The stone is only sleeping!"

With a wide grin, Gimli practically pulled Kirin from his chair with an enthusiastic hug. "Right you are, lad! I knew any relative of mine would understand!" He released his nephew and turned his attention back to the human. "Aragorn, I think you have underestimated the wisdom of our elf and of your steward. Do you really believe they would have killed themselves? Just given up so easily and left all of us here to mourn them?"

"No, but…"

"No buts, lad! They would not have!"

"You're right, I thought it was odd when Elladan told me. In fact, we had an argument because of it!" Aragorn exclaimed. "But I still do not understand. They _did _drink poison, and they _are_ dead! I have seen them myself, and neither have a pulse or breath."

"They are not dead, Aragorn," Gimli replied, "not if my theory is correct. They are only sleeping, deeply as the stones of the earth. Legolas told me of this poison once, when I discovered the vial among his things. He said he had never told another the truth of it, because all who carry it are sworn to some secrecy. Even your brothers have only heard part of the tale."

"Then how could he tell you?" asked Aragorn.

"The war is over now, or at least the greater evil of it is gone. He said that many no longer carry the stuff with them at all, and the secrecy has been lifted by King Thranduil himself. We had an argument over it as well, particularly when he would not let me destroy it. He came to me later that night, and explained to me that it is not really poison, but water – water from the Enchanted River that runs through his homeland. It is mixed with a strong sedative used by the healers of Greenwood in dire cases, which somehow took away the black coloring. Drinking even half puts an elf into a deep sleep, one that slows the heart and breath so that they are as one who is dead. Should an enemy come upon them, they would hopefully pass them by as a corpse, and if they did not then the elf would feel no pain nor give away any secrets. Should a friend come upon them, they could be woken."

Aragorn jumped from his seat, "They can be woken? How? Why did no one else tell me of this?"

"How should I know?!" Gimli shouted. "You are the one who's friends with all those blasted elves!"

"King Elessar," said Kirin, "didn't you say that you did not tell anyone else that Prince Legolas and Prince Faramir poisoned themselves?"

Aragorn groaned and sat down again, "I am a fool!"

"I have been telling you that for years, and this is when you finally understand?" Gimli laughed. "But there is no time for condemnation. We must wake them quickly; I do not know how the potion will have affected Faramir as a human, and if you have been treating them as if they were dead then they have not eaten or had proper medical attention for three days! They may be dead anyway."

Aragorn's eyes widened, "But they did receive treatment! Elladan, Elrohir, and Eowyn attended to them, even though they believed them to be dead. I thought it folly at the time, but I did not stop them because they said it helped them to ease their grief. They must still be alive!"

"And dreaming of elven feasts, as I understand it!" Gimli grinned. "Take me to them, Aragorn!"

"You know _how_ to wake them as well?"

Gimli glared, though it held no venom. "You did not think I learnt of the princeling's potion without making him tell me how to reverse its effects? Like all foolish elven tricks, all it requires is a bit of tree and a song."

"A song?"

"Cuivad Linnod I believe is what he called it: the Waking Song," Gimli answered. "We will need some herbs as well: athelas, lissuin, and thyme steeped in hot water."

Aragorn reached into his robes and pulled out several sprigs of athelas. "I have been administering to sick elves for many days now," he explained. "It was easier just to keep some on me. The rest can easily be sent for." He called out of the tent for someone to bring them thyme, lissuin, and a bowl of hot water. Within twenty minutes, all three items were brought to the tent and set on the table. For once, Aragorn stood aside and watched while Gimli measured out the herbs and mixed them together in the water. The dwarf was finished fairly quickly, and poured some of the mixture into a bottle. Gimli stoppered it and grinned at Aragorn and Kirin.

"Come now, let us save Faramir and the mad, pointy-eared elf!"

Aragorn winced, "You may not want to call him that any longer, Gimli."

"And why not? He has called me plenty worse!" the dwarf replied, still grinning. "Besides, it is true!" With the bottle in hand, he made his way out of the tent with Kirin at his side.

"Not anymore," Aragorn sighed, following them. "Our enemies have –" As soon as they left the tent a harried looking soldier ran up to them. Aragorn felt something churn in the pit of his stomach when he saw the look on the man's face. "What happened?"

" Gwarod has escaped, my king!" the man gasped. "He has killed two guards and freed many of the other prisoners! We think they may be going after your family, along with the elves and Lady Eowyn!"

Dread filling him, Aragorn raced back to his tent, barely noticing the two dwarfs that sprinted behind him. He cried out in despair when he arrived, for the guards he had charged with protecting Arwen and Eldarion were lying on the ground, either unconscious or dead. He pushed aside the ripped tent flap and entered with his sword drawn. "Arwen? Eldarion?" The inside was torn apart, with the cots flipped over and their things thrown everywhere. Neither Arwen or Eldarion were anywhere to be found within. "NO!"


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

Thanks to Ohtar Vicky and ebbingnight for the reviews! As ever, your comments are much appreciated! I apologize for the long wait, and I truly have no excuse this time! But the next chapter is well on its way to completion, so that will hopefully be up very shortly!

* * *

Gwarod grinned wickedly. The hilt of a dagger had been sticking out of the top of one of the men's boots, and he had managed to slip it out as they passed by. The soldier had stiffened for a moment, but by the time he turned around Gwarod had hidden the weapon and was moving his hand back to his side, as though he had attempted to trip the man as he walked past. The soldier scowled, "Don't even think of trying that again, or I'll cut off some of your fingers." Gwarod only smirked, and the soldier had moved on.

That was the last time anyone had bothered with Gwarod for at least an hour. His elven guards had left with scathing remarks – or at least he assumed them to be, he didn't know a word of their foul language. He was sure they planned to deal with him themselves, and of course the king would allow it. He could only imagine all of the tortures that would be visited upon him, and were he a sane man he might have been troubled. But Gwarod laughed; he would not be like his brother or his father. He knew the ways of these creatures, and even if they did manage to kill him they would suffer even as he did. Of course, he did not plan on doing any suffering in the near future. For all the twists of his mind, he was a very intelligent man. He knew how to take advantage of the opportunity they so generously had offered him.

There were only a few guards on him now, and he could see just a few more surrounding his men. The elves had all left, and the humans they had left behind were not tireless or unshakeable. Fools! They had not even bothered to lock him away, although he supposed his men had damaged the dungeons of Ithilien. His legs were chained to a tree, and now that the elves were gone there were no archers in it. He had a weapon, now he only needed the moment…

Suddenly, the soft, sad music that had been coming from somewhere beyond the trees rose in pitch and shifted to a terrible shriek of voices, all clamoring over one another without rhythm or tune. The soldiers were distracted, some going so far as to hold their hands over their ears. Gwarod was lucky, and the soldier nearest to him was one such man. Gwarod reached out and slit the man's throat before he had the chance to scream. He ruffled through the clothes quickly, and while he did not find a key he found a pin. Keeping one eye on the other guards, Gwarod made quick work of the chain on one leg. He was nearly finished the other when a second soldier turned toward him and opened his mouth to yell. The stolen dagger buried itself in the man's throat, and with a click Gwarod was freed.

He pilfered the sword off of the dead man in front of him and used the continued distraction of the funeral song to slit several more throats before the guards were able to raise the alarm. Knowing that there was no way he could take on all of the soldiers alone, he dropped the sword, pulled the dagger from the soldier's neck, and disappeared into the woods.

Gwarod cursed, for the trees were under elven enchantment and seemed to aid his pursuers. He was sure if it had been elves chasing him, he would have been dead by now. It took all of his cunning to evade the men, leading them through the trees, then back close to the camp, then further away again. He was quite lost himself when he finally looked back over his shoulder. The one look cost him, and he tripped on a tree root. He fell face down into a bush with a badly twisted ankle, the leaves absorbing his cry of pain. He raised himself on his arms and blinked in surprise. He was facing the entrance to a small cave, close enough to the ground to be easily missed, half hidden by the bush, and just big enough for a man of his size.

"Perhaps these elves have less power over the woods than they think," he whispered. He heard the crashing of branches under boots behind him. With a prayer, he dragged himself into the cave, only to find himself dropping several feet when his hands were past the entrance, for it was a deeper hole than he first imagined.

With a groan, Gwarod lifted his aching head and inspected his body. Other than a few bruises and the twisted ankle, nothing appeared broken, so he looked around. The light was very dim, but what little light trickled in from the sunset highlighted a torch on the wall, with the means for lighting it in a basket on the floor. That made Gwarod wary, since this was clearly an elven hideout, but a look at the cobwebs on the torch and basket told him none of them had entered for a long time. It was the perfect place to wait out the soldiers' searching. The king was at a funeral anyway, he wouldn't be bothered for some time with news of Gwarod. Truly then, the One was on his side; the timing was perfect, and Gwarod was _meant _to rid Middle Earth of the elves and their puppet king, should the queen's death not release him from their spell.

In the cave Gwarod waited and planned as the sky outside grew dark. He lit the torch once he was sure there was no one around, and found the cave would be useful for his future plans as well. Once he got to the royal family, he could take them here. None would suspect them to be hidden right under their feet! Here, in the dark and away from the stars and trees they worshiped like gods, the queen and her son would die.

With a smirk, Gwarod silently left the place and went to free his men while the guards were out looking for him. He marked his path by stabbing his dagger into the bases of the trees, where he hoped the guards would not look.

**XXX**

Kirin remained outside the tent while his uncle and the king searched it for signs of what had happened to the royal family. He helped some other humans look to the injured guards. One was certainly dead but the other three lived yet, and one of them was slowly coming back to awareness. Kirin leaned over this man. The soldier's clouded eyes brightened a bit. "Lord Gimli!" the words were slurred, as though his tongue had grown too large for his mouth. "My lord, you must tell the king…"

Kirin frowned, "But I'm not…"

"Please, there is no time! They came too quickly, there were many of them, and that man, the one who killed the lords, was the one leading them. I tried to stop him from entering, but one of the others slashed at my legs and I could not get up again when I fell. I barely managed to call a warning, for the queen and the prince were sleeping. It was too late, though; the men dragged them out of their beds before they could fight back, and they stole our horses." The man coughed, a bit of blood dribbling from his mouth and into his short beard.

Kirin realized that the man might not be able to speak for much longer, so he tried his best to ask what he thought would be most important. "Where did they go?"

The man coughed again, but pointed. Kirin shook his head; their path would not be difficult to follow, for they had left a trail of bodies in their wake and he could see smoke rising in the distance. This time, they would raise all of Ithilien to the ground. Around him, the rest of the camp was beginning to awaken. There were calls to arms and screams, for many non-combatants had arrived for the funerals. "Did they say anything? What do they plan?"

"To kill them. I shan't repeat what I heard, out of respect for my queen, but their leader wants to kill the prince himself, and he told his men to…to destroy all elves. They will take…take them while they are unwary….at the funeral rites!" The soldier groaned as other men tried to take care of his wounds.

"That bodes ill for us all." Kirin jumped. He had not heard his uncle return, but now Gimli stood beside him, leaning on his large ax. Gimli stood straighter and turned back to Aragorn, who was staring at the stars. The dwarf smacked the king's arm. "Oye there, laddie! This is your army, and it is your family in danger! Wake up, and tell them what to do!"

Aragorn glared at the dwarf while rubbing his arm, "I was praying for aid, Gimli. But you are right, now is the time to act." He looked at the soldiers. "Take them to the healers, alert everyone of what has happened. Send a battalion with the civilians and get them out of Ithilien. Tell them to make for Gondor. Take the elves who will go with you, and disguise them as best you can. Send your fastest riders to Emyn Arnen with a warning. I want everyone else to hunt these enemies down and recapture them! They are going after the elves, protect them if you can."

The soldiers instantly followed their orders, several running in different directions to spread the word. Aragorn turned to Gimli. "Now I am at a loss. We must help Legolas and Faramir, presuming you are correct in your theory, but I _must _go after my family!"

"You think we dwarves are incapable of doing anything on our own?" Gimli replied. "Go after your family, Aragorn, and we will wake our sleeping friends. I certainly hope they wake well enough, for I fear we will need their skills before the night is out. We can warn the mourning elves as well, if someone will show us where to go."

Aragorn smiled grimly, "Your words are wise as always, Master Dwarf. I cannot say I am pleased with this, for much danger lies ahead and I fear we will lose much…but alas, there is no time for a better plan!" He called to one of the soldiers, "Take them to the place where the elves are conducting their burial rites."

The soldier nodded. Gimli and Aragorn clasped hands once, then parted ways.

**XXX**

Gimli, Kirin, and the soldier guiding them were met at the edge of the clearing by one of the woodelves. He bowed to them, "Welcome, Lord Gimli, to you and your kin. Were that your presence was not the mark of such tragedy. Alas, my lord can greet you no more."

"We shall see about that, Master Hathel," Gimli replied, "for I have some news, both good and ill. King Elessar has kept a few things from you, but only because he believed the knowledge would cause great pain for all of your people and he wished for his friends to be remembered differently than they may have been should the information spread."

Hathel frowned, "Those are pretty words, but I cannot read them without anger. Why would he keep anything from us? Who else knows, if you do?"

"The twin lords from Rivendell, I believe, and few others. I am not sure if even the Lady Eowyn has been informed, but I ask you to save your anger for those more deserving. You will not like much of what I have to say, but we must act now."

"Then speak quickly."

The dwarf continued, "A broken vial was found near the body of Lord Faramir, and the traces of poison left in it matched some found on his lips and Lord Legolas'. Lords Elladan and Elrohir were misinformed by Legolas himself about the purpose of this so-called poison, and so believed he and Faramir killed themselves. However, Legolas once told me of the poison's true purpose, and I am sure you know it as well. If I am correct, then they are both still alive and can be awakened with the appropriate remedy, which I have procured." He held up the bottle.

As he had spoken, Hathel's eyes had grown wide, and the dwarves could see a number of emotions racing through him. "Alive? If what you say is true, then that very well may be, and there are probably others! I had not even considered ungolnen! We have not used it widely since the end of the war, but there are many who continue to carry it as a symbol."

"Ungolnen?" asked Kirin. He had heard Legolas speak enough elvish to know the words did not seem right.

Hathel grinned at the young dwarf, "Aye, it means spider-water. Did Legolas not tell you what was in it? It is water from the enchanted river, a few herbs, and a drop of spider venom. It is probably the most powerful sleeping potion in the world."

"Spider venom?!" Gimli spluttered. He shook his head and muttered, "Mad elves!"

"Come quickly, and we will wake the dead!" said Hathel. "This will be most interesting, for they are still conducting the funeral, although there are no longer many present. Follow me." The two dwarves followed the elf into a clearing filled with holes in the dirt. Next to the holes lay the still corpses of many elves, and their living kin stood nearby in mourning. There was an eerie silence that hung heavily in the air, even for one who had not witnessed the funeral's earlier stages. Gimli had to admit he felt guilty breaking it, for not all of these elves were asleep.

The three weaved their way among the bodies, many of the living elves bowing or at least nodding as they passed, offering silent condolences. They paused next to the largest crowd in the center, which still consisted of only five elves. Among these were the brothers, Rúmil and Orophin. They placed a hand each on Gimli's shoulders when he came close enough, their eyes moving from him to the figure which lay on the ground.

Gimli felt his insides twist at the sight. Legolas was pale as a ghost, his hair neatly braided so that it covered his ears and intertwined with the silver circlet he wore on important occasions. He was dressed as an elf lord, in greens, silvers, and golds, with his hands folded across his chest and the bow he had received in Lothlorien at his side. A single, gold-painted arrow was between his slightly crooked fingers, along with a green leaf. Several flowers and – were those seeds? – covered him, and someone had included the feather of a gull.

"Uncle?"

The smallest whisper broke the silence and the spell that had taken over Gimli at the sight of his friend, laid out as one dead. He turned and smiled at his nephew, "I am well, Kirin; or at least I will be."

Hathel was speaking to the gathered elves, so softly that Gimli could not hear a word of what was said. But he could see their expressions change, and at last Hathel turned back to them. "You may proceed, and we offer our aid. Word will be spread to attempt this on all of our dead, and though there are those who disagree with the disruption, particularly those not from Eryn Lasgalen, most are simply embarrassed. I do not know how we could have missed such a thing!"

"You lost your home and many friends in a single night, then were made to believe your lord had been tortured and killed," Gimli replied, "it is quite understandable. None here are truly well."

Orophin shook his head, "If this works, you will have our eternal gratitude."

"Leave it to a dwarf to wake one who sleeps still as stone!" Gimli grinned. Before he could proceed, a stern looking woodelf intervened.

"You are interrupting the funeral rites, and if your foolish hopes prove false then you have done a greater harm! You are distracting him from his path to Mandos."

Gimli sighed; he could hear several others mummer in agreement. "Very well then, I shall look for proof that he still lives before we continue. You elves may have fine hearing, but this is something that requires a dwarf's ear." He knelt next to the body and gently cleared away a few of the flowers and seeds.

"Why can the elves not hear it, uncle? Surely they would know the heartbeat of one of their own kind," Kirin whispered.

"Because listening to the dead is much like listening to rock, and no elf I know of has ever heard the song of the stone, not even Legolas," Gimli replied, laying his ear against the elf's still chest. "Now be silent and still." Kirin did as he was told, and Gimli closed his eyes. Both remained frozen for several minutes, and Gimli began to lose hope. Perhaps he had not been right after all? _Come on, elf, now is not the time to be stubborn! If you expect me to kiss you, then you are going to sleeping for an awfully long time!_

Then, he heard it. A faint, fluttering beat – almost like the elf's laughter. Gimli focused on the sound, letting it draw him in, and a smile spread across his face. He stood up and laughed, "Just like a stone indeed! He sleeps as deeply as our forefathers, Kirin, but he lives yet! Now we must wake him quickly, for there is trouble for the king and his family. Bah! Now you see why I must return so often; these two cannot survive two months without me!"

Several of the elves around them gaped, while Rúmil and Orophin laughed. "That is probably true. Did you say that you already had the remedy?"

Gimli pulled out the bottle and took out the stopper. "May I move him _now_?"

"We will aid you," said Hathel. He knelt just behind Legolas' head and lifted the sleeping elf into his lap, so that he was partially sitting. "It would do us no good if he choked to death on the cure."

With a nod of agreement, Gimli leaned over his friend, gently opened his mouth, and poured about a cup of the liquid into his mouth, a little at a time. As he did, he began to sing in elvish. Some of the elves looked aghast to hear their language in his deep bass, but most merely seemed curious. Those who knew the song joined in, instantly changing the tone of their silent funeral vigil. The song was light and happy, bidding the listener to awaken and enjoy life. As they sang, a bit of color returned to Legolas' face as slowly he began to wake.

**XXX**

Aragorn had sprinted through the camp, following the trail of destruction that he hoped would lead him to his wife and son. The thought of losing them terrified him more than more than any danger he had ever faced as a ranger or a king. A troop of soldiers followed him, but he sent several of them to follow other trails, in case the main one was meant as a distraction. At the moment, he felt fairly certain that Gwarod was trying to draw him out. If that was the case then he was acting quite foolishly, as several men tried to point out. He ignored them; this was his family. If he lost them, there would be little point to him living.

At the end of the camp, he skidded to a stop. They were about to head deeper into the trees, and from here it looked like the trail would be trickier to follow. Several different tracks converged and separated again here, each going in a different direction. Perhaps Gwarod was not trying to draw him after all; the correct path was no longer clear.

There was a distinctly feminine shout from somewhere ahead and to their right. For a moment, his head warred with his heart. It was not Arwen, of that he was sure, but the woman sounded like she was in trouble. He was down to a very small personal guard, who were charged solely with the duty of protecting the king. They would not leave him even if ordered to do so, not without a seal from the council. He entered the trees cautiously, hoping to come across some sign.

In the end, the decision was made for him by a more sinister fate. They had not gotten far when the sounds of fighting grew closer and a stray arrow embedded itself in one soldier's arm. The man yelled, drawing instant attention to them, and they were quickly embroiled in a battle of their own.

**XXX**

Many miles from Ithilien and Gondor, three hobbits enjoyed a moment together in the sun-filled garden of Bag End. Rosie, Sam's wife, had taken the children in for a nap, and now they were laughing at some things that were not meant for the ears of younger hobbits. The cry of a hawk caused them to look up, for large birds of prey were uncommon in the Shire. To their surprise, the bird circled downward and landed on a small tree that stood just next to the picnic table they were sitting at.

"Look!" cried Merry. "It has a scroll attached to its leg, with a red string!"

"Well you try and see what it is, I'm not going to bother a bird like that!" Sam replied.

Cautiously, Merry approached the bird. It blinked at him, but did not fly away or attack as he got closer. In fact, once the hobbit was close enough to touch the hawk, it held out the leg with the paper tied on. The bird sat patiently through the hobbit's fumbling with the string. Once the letter was removed, it continued to look pointedly at Merry's pocket. With a laugh, Merry removed a bit of sandwich he had stowed there and tossed it to the bird, who eagerly caught the treat then continued to wait in the tree.

"Give it here, Merry, I want to see who it's from!" called Pippin.

"How about we see who it's for first," suggested Sam.

Merry grinned, "What other hobbits do you think receive letters with the seal of Gondor's king on them? Besides, it has our names written on it."

"Strider!" Pippin exclaimed happily. "Well go on, read it out for us!"

Merry laughed, "After all these years, Pip, I would think you'd have learned a spot of patience!"

"We haven't heard from Gondor in some time now, go on and read it!" chuckled Sam.

"Alright, alright." Merry unfurled the paper, cleared his throat and began with a wide smile. "_My Dear Friends, I hope this letter finds you well, with green lands and full stomachs._"

"As if we'd be found any other way!"

"Shush, Pippin!"

"_I regret that I must encroach on such peace, for all is not well here. There was a terrible attack on the elven settlement of Ithilien, too like the scourging of your Shire for my liking._"

"Poor Mister Legolas; he must be devastated!"

"_Now Ithilien has been purged of those evil men, but it has come with a very high price…_oh…no…"

"What? What is it?" called Sam. Merry ignored him, but his hands began to shake as he continued reading the letter to himself.

"Merry, what is it?!" shouted Pippin.

Merry looked up. "They're dead."

Sam blinked. "Dead?"

"Legolas…and Faramir. I'm so sorry about him, Pip. But here, read it!" he handed them the paper, and all three crowded around Aragorn's letter. A bitter chill came over their hearts and all the earlier laughter tasted bitter. When they finished reading they looked around at one another, none with a dry eye.

"Their funeral is tomorrow then, or perhaps today. There is some difference in time between here and Gondor," Merry muttered.

"Time?!" Pippin shouted. "Faramir and Legolas are dead, and all you can think of is when they'll be buried for good?! We can't even be there! How could this happen?" With an incomprehensible yell, he threw his mug across the yard, where it shattered.

Rosie ran out from the house, "What is it? What's happened?"

Pippin sighed and dropped back into a chair, "Oh, I'm sorry Rosie, I just…"

"Ye look as though you've all come down with a sudden ill!" She touched Sam's arm and gasped, "You are as cold as ice! Come back inside, lads, and I will make you something warm. I certainly hope this has naught to do with my cooking, but as I still feel well and the children…"

Sam gently grabbed her arm and shook his head. "It isn't like that; I doubt any amount of foul food could have gone bad so quickly, and your cooking is delightful. We've just had a nasty shock. King Elessar sent us word from Gondor that Ithilien was attacked, and two of our very dear friends were killed." He handed her the letter.

"I'm so sorry," Rosie said when she was finished. "I know what those folks mean to you. All the same, I thought elves couldn't die?"

Merry sighed, "They cannot get sick and they never grow old, but they can be die by the sword or arrow just as easily as we can. It does feel different though. Like all the warmth in the world vanished for an instant."

Pippin drew in a shaking breath, and his words came out broken, "I feel something terrible has happened, far from here and near to our hearts."

Rosie frowned, "Come inside for a cup of hot soup all the same, and a cup of stronger stuff for drinking. That will warm ye, at least, and this grief will ease. The hawk is nearby yet, so we shall reply and ask them to send a guard, so you may yet say goodbye. In the mean time, we can do nothing now but wait for word. The Shire is too far for you to be of any help in time." She helped Sam to stand and slung her other arm around Pippin. "Up ye get now, lads. There is no use dwelling on the end of a life, be it big or small. Tell us all about them again, the children love your tales."

"Aye, and we will make sure there isn't a lad or lass in all the Shire who doesn't know them by heart," said Merry.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

Hello all! My apologies, I expected to have this up much sooner, but RL got drastically in the way. My schedule is suddenly full! Thank you so much for the reviews, Susan W and Ohtar Vicky, they make me smile and want to write more! Honestly, I can make no gurantees about the timing of the next chapter, but I will do my best to have it up before the end of August! Enjoy!

Oh, and if anyone knows any good elvish blessings for a wedding (not mine), let me know!

* * *

He was dancing, spinning around and around a merry fire. There were many others with him, and though he knew they were elves he could not quite recognize any of them. There was a great feast laid out on the table beyond the fire, with all of his favorite foods. Laughter and song filled the air, making Legolas sure that he was at one of his father's feasts, for there were many trees about them.

But there was something wrong with the trees. There seemed to be many eyes staring out from behind them, yet every time he went to warn someone of the threat, probably spiders, he forgot what he had wanted to say. The others only laughed and encouraged him to keep dancing, to raise his voice and sing with them. They began to lead him on a wide path into the woods, and though it was a dark night all carried brightly flickering torches, strangely colored in bright blues, purples, greens, and reds. He followed them eagerly, dancing and singing all the way until he remembered the eyes in the woods. But the fear dissipated again, and he continued on.

They led him from one feast to another, ever dancing, ever singing, ever bright within the pitch black of the woods. Time meant nothing to him at a feast that did not end and in a place where the sun never seemed to rise. At first he had tried to remember what all of this was for, tried to understand the feeling that something was wrong other than the spiders watching their feasts. Or perhaps they were dwarves? Dwarves, lost, looking for…something…dwarves…and a…a hop-it?…oh, never mind. It was nothing important.

Occasionally he felt a sharp pain in his body, but it faded as quickly as it came. The faces, too, morphed as soon as he began to feel he recognized them. He stopped trying to remember, and let himself become immersed in the happiness of the night. After all, there was another song on the wind bidding him to stay forever in this enchantment, or so it seemed to him – he could not quite catch the words, and eventually tuned them out entirely. They were too sad for such a place, more like a lament.

He could not say when the song changed, only that it did. There was a new note to it, and suddenly his memories mattered again. He could taste something odd in his mouth, although he had not taken any drinks. Now that he thought of it, he had not eaten anything at all. He was hungry. And sore. Why was he sore? Dancing? No, too much dancing did not cause this kind of ache. The spiders were gone now, but he could see other shapes through the trees. A dwarf! Now he was sure of it! There was something important about this one, too, for it was the dwarf who was singing.

_Awake, arise!_

He was dreaming then. Why was he dreaming? Why could he not wake up on his own? What had happened? He looked around and saw now only the swirling figments of a feast that would never fill his belly. No, there were no answers here. In fact, the vision around him was beginning to fade into darkness, and beyond the darkness only one song remained. He followed the voices of the dwarf and many elves until he could feel himself again, aching but very much alive. But he couldn't breathe. He needed air! He needed to move again, needed to see the stars! With a gasp, Legolas forced himself awake.

**XXX**

Gimli could have danced with joy when a noticeable pulse finally thumped through the elven body before him. There was slight movement, as well, to indicate that life and wakefulness were returning. "How long does it take for him to become aware?" Gimli whispered.

"Not long, as I understand it, though he may be confused at first," Hathel replied.

Before either could rejoin the song, Legolas' body twitched, and with a sudden gasp his eyes flew open. There was a cheer from the surrounding elves, and Gimli was not entirely sure he would be so adverse to kissing the elf for all the joy welling in his dwarven heart. Hathel gently helped Legolas to sit on his own, the elf prince still gasping for air to fill much-deprived lungs. His eyes roamed wildly about the sea of elven faces, his disorientation clear.

"Take it easy for a moment, lad, you've given us quite a fright," Gimli smiled.

The eyes stopped on Gimli, and after a moment they lit with recognition. "Gimli! What in the world are you doing here? Where is here, anyway? Was there a battle? I can't…I don't remember anything of it!"

Kirin frowned, "What's happened to him?"

One of the woodelves answered quietly, "It is an after-effect of ungolnen, from the river water. It makes one forget a great deal, but we have found that this memory loss is not so extensive nor so lasting for our folk."

Rúmil knelt next to the prince, "There was a battle, Legolas, in which you were taken from us and most grievously injured by wicked men."

"Men? But how? There are no men in Southern Ithilien now, save Lord Faramir and his family. Did they not arrive just yesterday?" said Legolas.

Hathel sighed, "Much has happened since then, my lord, and that was over two weeks ago." He quickly summarized most of what had happened before, during, and after the attack on Ithilien. Legolas listened intently, but never seemed to remember his own part in the tale. At last, he turned back to the two dwarves.

"If all of this is true, then you have my eternal gratitude, Gimli."

"None of that now, lad," Gimli replied gruffly. "We're happy to have you back in the land of the living. I can't tell you how much trouble this has caused!"

"Speaking of trouble," said Kirin, "Shouldn't we be moving? There's no telling when the men will attack!"

All eyes turned to him. "Attack?" whispered Orophin.

Gimli leapt to his feet. "Ah! I am a daft fool! I should have begun with such a warning, but I am afraid I was distracted by grief, no matter if it was unneeded. Yes, the men have managed to escape, and they plan to attack you while they believe you weakened by your mourning! You must prepare to fight!"

This drew shouts of unease from the elves, and they began to panic. "But we have no weapons with us!"

"What are we to do?"

"We must leave here!"

"We cannot leave our dead to their desecration!"

"QUEIT!" Shocked elves turned to face their revived lord, who had managed to stand unsteadily with the aid of Hathel. Although his body was still wavering, the blue eyes remained firm as Legolas spoke to his people. "We may all have been weakened by this recent attack, but we are elves! We will _not _stand idly, nor run blindly, while these men try to destroy us! Have you forgotten our strength, our speed, our cunning? Make weapons with what you can! Take those that were to be buried with the dead, no matter how it grieves you. It would be more erroneous to dishonor their memory by allowing your blood to be spilled over their graves!"

Gimli found himself slightly in awe of his friend. The elves had pushed aside their sudden panic, and were now following Legolas' orders even as he stumbled when he tried to walk on his own. Gimli gently patted the elf's back while Hathel steadied him. "Now that, my friend, is the mark of a true leader. I am very glad that you are alive."

Legolas smiled down at the dwarf, understanding by the slight hitch in the gruff voice that Gimli had meant much more than that. "As am I, Gimli." He gave a slightly off-balance bow to the younger dwarf, who looked very much like his uncle with thick, russet-colored hair and deep brown eyes. "It is good to see you again, Kirin."

"The same to you, Lord Legolas!" Kirin replied.

Wind made the trees rustle, carrying with it the sounds of battle in the camp and the scent of fire. "We must hurry, for it appears we are not the only ones in trouble," said Legolas. He brushed a few strands of hair out of his face, moved them behind his ears…and froze. Gimli, too, could not help a shocked gasp, for he had yet to see the full extent of what had been done to the elf, which no amount of healing or medicinal sleep could fix. Legolas' ears were badly scabbed and awkwardly flattened where the pointed tips had once been.

"My lord?" Hathel called when Legolas started to shiver. Legolas only continued to stare into space, only his fingers moving as they gently explored the hurt he could not see.

"_Everything that makes you an elf makes you weak! Your language, your magic, your looks – yes, even those ugly little ears! I will teach you to respect men, elf!"_

"_No! Let him go you bastards!"_

…_Pain, pain unlike any he had known before, and a scream so agonizing he could not believe it was coming out of his mouth. Blood, so much blood…_

"…_you can't be a true elf-bitch without ugly ears…"_

_Faramir, good, wise, Faramir, struggling madly against the hands that held him down as they sewed elven flesh to the mortal's ear._

"…_You are still only half an elf-bitch…and Lord Legolas, you are the same!"_

"_Stop! NO!"_

_More unbearable pain. More blood. More screams. Faramir, struggling harder still. A weakness unlike any he had ever known settling into his body as elven life-blood poured down his face._

"_This is the world of men!... I won't have any more pointy ears in this world!"_

_A sudden strength. "You will not touch them!" And it was gone that quickly, with a single touch to his mutilated ears._

"_I said get them out of here! Bring me the others, we will teach these cursed elves to show respect to those in power!"_

_Pain, weakness, and then a gentle understanding, a quiet conversation._

"_You wonder if they are truly evil at heart, what lies or threats led them so far from home."_

_Laughter. "You have an ear fetish?"_

"_No…well yes…I did not mean it like that!"_

_More screams, trouble brewing, and an endless waiting. Waiting for the end, for he knew that they would not be returning the next time they were dragged to the platform. Then it happened, and there was more waiting, more pain, and a little hoping._

"_Fear not, mellon-nin…A new spring will come again to Ithilien, with new trees and new life, even if we are not there to see it…You are a good man, Faramir of Gondor, and a good friend."_

"_You as well, Legolas of Mirk – nay, Greenwood! Or better, you are a good elf."_

_Then there was no more time for planning, no more time for talking. There were watchers in the woods, strong elves and men and women who would carry on no matter what happened to him or Faramir. There were arrows flying, and then he was flying too, whisked away to a hopeless cabin. They would be dead or they would be slaves if no one came in time, and the dead elf-warrior had offered just one hope, one last chance to escape._

"_Do you trust me, Faramir?"_

"_Yes, Legolas, I think I do."_

"Legolas! Leaf-brained, tree-talking, spoiled, damned-fool ELF!"

Legolas blinked, moved his hair back in front of his ears with a slight wince, and picked his bow off of the pallet on which his body had been laid to rest. "Gwarod," he growled, "is going to pay dearly."

Now Gimli gaped. "You remember?"

"Yes, as much as is to be expected, anyway. Where are the rest of my weapons?" he was already moving forward, led in the appropriate direction by the smoke that was beginning to rise over the edge of the trees. The dwarves, Hathel, Rúmil, and Orophin followed along with several other elves who worried for Legolas' health.

"Slow down there now, lad!" Gimli exclaimed. "I'm sure they can be found for ye, but we have other matters to attend to first! Arwen and Eldarion were taken from their beds by Gwarod himself, and Aragorn has gone after them. No one knows what has become of the Lady Eowyn or her children, and Faramir still lies as one dead!"

"Ai, grim is our fate this night!" Legolas sighed to the stars. "We cannot be in so many places at once!"

Rúmil smiled slightly, putting his hand on Legolas' shoulder. "Fate has yet to be sealed, and the night is young. Orophin and I will search for the lady and her children. You and the dwarves should go to Faramir, for I imagine the effects of ungolnen are harder on a mortal body."

"You can gather your weapons and some food along the way," Orophin added. "Your quiver is in the same tent as Faramir's body, though we know not what has become of your knives. You must eat, as well. Elladan and Elrohir took the time to heal your body to help them mourn for your believed loss, but no one feeds the dead."

Legolas nodded, "You are right, and I thank you. Hathel, will you organize the resistance here? Find an escape route, just in case. We will send soldier to help you, and once we have awakened Lord Faramir, Gimli, Kirin and I shall go to aid Gondor's royal family."

"It is as good a plan as any," Hathel agreed.

"We will show you the tent and begin our search there," said Rúmil. He paused momentarily and looked hard at his brother, "Orophin, perhaps you should remain here instead. Your leg…"

"Will be fine, brother. I will be more than capable of keeping up with you; in fact, I will leave you in the dust."

Rúmil crossed his arms. "And how is that?"

"Because Arod likes me best; I have bribed him with many an apple over the past several days," Orophin grinned. He pulled a bright red apple from his pocket and waved it in the air, accompanied by the whistle Legolas had always used to call the horse. Arod appeared almost immediately from the woods, and he snatched the apple from Orophin's hand as soon as he was close enough. Munching happily, the white horse whinnied at the sight of Legolas and gently rubbed his face against his master.

Legolas laughed, "It is good to see you as well, Arod."

"Come now, Las, he will bear us both through the woods! You should not be on your feet yet, either," said Orophin. With Rúmil helping him to support his bad leg, Orophin swung onto Arod's back and reached out a hand to help Legolas. Accepting that he was not quite up to his usual grace, Legolas took the hand and joined Orophin on the back of his faithful horse. He could not help a groan at the pressure on his hand; the twins had straightened out all of his bones, but that did not mean they were completely healed yet.

"Noro lim, Arod!" Legolas whispered before any could question his health, and the horse leapt off in the direction of the camp. "Come on, Gimli!" Legolas called over his shoulder.

"What have I told you about that, lad?!" Gimli grunted, even as he, Kirin, and Rúmil ran after the horse. "We dwarves are lost on cross-country!"

"I thought you to be natural sprinters," Rúmil smirked, "the distance is not far." He and Kirin were already several feet ahead of the dwarf lord.

Kirin sighed, "Perhaps, but Uncle is beginning to get a bit old…"

"I heard that, Kirin! Just you wait until I catch up with you. I had to leave the elves with most of that antidote! Now I've got to be careful not to spill this last bit, I can't run so fast…whoa now!" Gimli suddenly felt himself lifted up, and placed as the third passenger on the back of Arod, who had returned for the dwarf. Arod snorted at the extra weight, but it was no burden; the two elves combined only weighed as much as a single dwarf.

**XXX**

The fighting was drawing Aragorn further and further along the edge of the woods, away from his originally intended path. At least they were getting closer to the other voices, one of them with a distinctly feminine lilt. He brought his sword up to deflect the bow of one of the men, the shriek of metal on metal grating against his ears as the two blades slid against one another. He pushed just a little harder and the other man stumbled backward.

"Estel, bado dad!" (aprox. Get down!)

Memories of his earliest years as a ranger kicked in and Aragorn ducked without a second thought. An arrow whizzed over his head, coming from behind, and struck his adversary in the stomach. Another arrow flew from the opposite direction, and a strangled cry from behind signaled that it had hit its mark. Aragorn stood once more and looked over at his rescuer with a wry grin. Elrohir stood several feet away at the opposite edge of a charred clearing that had once contained an elvish dwelling, already drawing another arrow from his quiver.

With another step Aragorn entered the open space and surveyed the scene. Not far from his brother, Elladan was using his own sword and a borrowed one to exchange blows with two of the men at once. Despite their greater numbers, Elladan seemed to have the advantage. Most of Aragorn's men were already in the clearing as well, standing close to him and trying to keep any harm from coming to their king.

Aragorn had to blink twice when he looked to the center of the clearing, for he thought he was seeing a vision of some war goddess. Bathed in moonlight and dressed in mournful black and gold, Eowyn fought with a grace to match the elven twins. Aragorn had to shake the slight disappointment that the lady was, indeed, not his Arwen, but he was relieved to see that the brave shield-maiden remained unharmed and well enough to stand her ground – or trunk, as she stood on the remains of a tree that had once been a home to several elves.

"My lord, to your right!" another voice brought him back to the battle, and Aragorn raised his sword to face the man his guard had warned of. He threw his will into the fight; the only way to reach his family now was to defeat these men who stood in his way. He made his way toward Eowyn in the center, and was surprised when he came close enough to see tears running down her face.

"My lady, are you hurt?!" he called.

She did not answer until she had driven her sword into the belly of one of the men. "Only in my heart," she answered. "They have sent men to kill my children, and drive us further from them and anyone else who might be warned!"

Aragorn's eyes flashed, "Then let us make them understand how dangerous it is to stand between a parent and their child." With a grim smile and her uncle's battle cry, Eowyn leapt from the trunk, startling the men who must not have heard of the lady's days as a soldier. Aragorn turned so they stood back to back, and the king's guard gathered around them.

With most of their enemies turning inward, Elrohir took a moment to collect some of his used arrows before climbing a tree. Elladan sheathed his sword, dropped the borrowed one, and pilfered a bow and nearly-full quiver from one of the men they had dispatched early on in the fighting. He and Elrohir had only managed to grab a weapon each when they were driven into the woods. Elladan followed his brother into the branches, choosing a tree several paces away so that they would be able to cover more ground. The men screamed as a deadly rain of arrows began to fall among them, not one straying to harm a son of Gondor or daughter of Rohan.

Though they recognized that they were losing the fight, Gwarod's men continued on, going so far as to drive their enemies a little closer to the opposite line of trees. Their orders were, in part, to keep anyone from following Gwarod. After all, he had promised that as soon as the queen and prince were dead the king would awaken from the elves' spell and join their side once again.

This particular group had been sent after the sons of Lord Elrond and Lady Eowyn, to make sure that they were brought to justice. Eowyn and her family had worked too closely with the elves, and were ensnared by the charms of too many of them to be sure all the enchantment was gone. Her children's death had been ordered as well, although many of the men secretly protested this and were glad it was not part of their duty to murder the young ones. They had fewer qualms about bringing down the elven twins, who surely held some part in the human king's enchantment. Perhaps Elessar himself would give the order to execute Elrond's wicked sons once his witch-wife was dead, or have them brought into custody. The men would insist the elves were killed immediately, of course, in case they tried to reinforce their sister's magic.

Then again, Elessar might also be too far gone, in which case they were to kill him as well. It was a shame, really, to most of them, but these things had to be done for the sake of humanity – or at least so clever, powerful Gwarod would not destroy their own families.

**XXX**

Faramir had found the entire thing very strange at first, but all of his attempts to ask questions were met with light laughter and offers to dance. He was in a forest, and it was late at night, but there were many fires going to provide light. There was a great feast at the edge of the clearing, and around the fire many beautiful elves danced. He found himself joining them despite his questions, and soon forgot to ask at all.

But there was still something wrong. There were wicked eyes in the black forest, and though he danced with many different partners there was a golden-haired lady dressed in white who he could never quite reach, though he desperately wanted to. He knew her, though he could not recall…Eowyn! Yes, it was his wife! She looked more beautiful than any of the elf maidens, yet always danced just out of his reach.

Faramir chased after her. Eowyn looked back at him with a smile, and he heard the music of her laughter even when she was not in his sight. Dancing elves joined his chase merrily, laughing along with the lady. Once in a while he thought he recognized one of them – two with silver hair, a pretty, dark-haired female, identical twins…all faded as quickly as they appeared, and they didn't matter so long as he could catch his Eowyn.

Suddenly, there was a strange note in the song the elves sang, and a tall figure blocked his path to Eowyn. Faramir looked up into the blue eyes of the singer, and was horrified to see blood covering the elf's fair face. He blinked and the figure was gone, but the song remained, reminding him that there was something more than Eowyn, something he needed to remember if he ever wanted to hold her again.

_Awake, arise!_

The scene began to fade, until only Eowyn remained. She smiled sadly at him before disappearing into the darkness, leaving him alone save for the song. A dream. He was sleeping! If he wanted to find Eowyn, find…their children! He had to wake up, he had to see them! But even as the haze in his mind began to lift, his chest tightened. He couldn't breathe! He couldn't move! No matter how the elf sang, he could not will himself awake.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

Thanks again for the reviews and your patience! I truly appreciate all of your comments!

The reason both Legolas and Faramir were dreaming of elven feasts was due to the influence of the Enchanted River's water. For those of you who enjoyed The Hobbit, you might recall that Bombur (one of the dwarves) fell into the river and slept for a long time. When he awoke he remembered nothing of their journey, and explained that he "dreamed [of] walking in a forest...lit with torches on the trees and lamps swinging from the branches and fires burning on the ground; and there was a great feast going on, going on for ever...and there was merry singing..." ("Flies and Spiders", 149).

I suppose I should apologize once again, not only because it will probably be quite some time before the next chapter is posted, but also for the triple cliffie. On the bright side, Faramir returns in this chapter, and Arwen gets to kick some ass! Enjoy!

* * *

Arod stamped his foot impatiently once he stopped outside of the tent, wishing to be rid of the large amount of weight on his back. Orophin would have laughed if it were not for the somber mood of the place, the sky already filling with smoke from trees and tents. He gave Arod a gentle pat in thanks, promising many treats to the horse for his strength and patience.

Rúmil helped Gimli, Legolas, and Orophin to dismount. "We will leave Arod with you, for I think you will need him more in the near future. Orophin, are you sure you should come with me?"

Orophin sighed, "For the last time, Rú, I am perfectly capable of keeping up with you. It is not my safety I worry for."

Rúmil nodded, leading all of them into the tent where Faramir's body lay. There were no soldiers guarding it, inside or out, as all had been called away to defeat the escaping prisoners, although someone had left a single candle burning by Faramir's cot. Whoever it was had been looking on the body, for the light sheet covering him was folded back at the waist and one of his hands hung over the side of the bed. There seemed to be no signs of struggle, and the body was otherwise untouched. The steward was as pale as death, with no signs of life in his body. However, Legolas was untroubled by the sight, thinking Faramir looked better than the last time he had seen the man – covered in blood and with Legolas' ears attached to his own. The body was far from healed, but it had been well cared for.

Rúmil found the other candles and lit them, exposing an empty cot and several chairs to the light. Legolas could not help a shiver at the sight. "Yes," whispered Rúmil, "that is where you lay until quite recently."

Orophin pointed to a trunk at the end of the cot, "Therein lies what things of yours we found scattered among the men. We intended to give them to your father, along with whatever was left of your home. We have not been there yet, although I have heard that much of it still stands, including the guest house of dwarven make."

"See now lad, I told you it would never fall!" Gimli smiled, though his attempt to lighten the mood fell short in a room where so many tears had been shed.

Legolas nodded, "We will rebuild with your aid then. Thank you. All of you."

"To hear your thanks is enough repayment for a lifetime, mellon nín," Rúmil replied. "Now I bid you luck, and pray we meet once more."

"May Elbereth protect you," said Legolas.

"And Aule give you strength!" Gimli added.

"The same to you, my friends!" said the brothers. Then they left, moving silently through the camp grounds.

"Now what?" asked Kirin.

"Now we see to Faramir," said Legolas. He sat in the chair that had been left by the man's bed and took his discarded hand. "Gimli, give him the antidote."

With Kirin raising Faramir's head, Gimli poured the liquid he had saved in a once empty canteen into the man's mouth. At the same time, Legolas began to sing. "Kirin," Gimli whispered when they had emptied the canteen, "go and guard the entrance, but be subtle about it. Don't let yourself be seen, and warn us if anyone is coming, be they friend or foe."

"Yes, uncle," Kirin replied, hefting his intricately carved battle axe, a gift from his father Bofur, and going to the tent flaps. Then Gimli joined in the song, and the two friends inwardly prayed for Faramir's return to them, whole and hale.

It took longer for the first signs of life to show in the human, but eventually his fingers twitched in Legolas' grip and his eyelids flickered. Legolas squeezed the hand, although it hurt his own, and continued the song, while Gimli seemed to sing a little louder. Faramir's body twitched suddenly, but instead of waking he continued to struggle, apparently unable to draw breath. Gimli looked to Legolas, hoping this was a normal human reaction, but the elf was frowning and worry creased his brow.

Moments passed as the body continued to twitch, and Gimli pressed his fingers against Faramir's neck to find that his heart beat had returned, only to be forced into a racing, unsteady tempo. He stopped singing and exclaimed, "Legolas, we are going to lose him like this!"

Legolas' frown deepened, but he never stopped singing. Instead, he gestured for Gimli to take up the song again as well. Gimli complied, and the elf finally spoke, "Do not stop singing, Gimli, no matter what. We must not break the song, or the spell it weaves will be broken as well. This is not normal, and I will do what I can, but please do not stop singing." Gimli nodded in understanding, and Legolas leaned over Faramir's body, releasing his hand to press on the man's chest. With his other hand Legolas pinched Faramir's nose, then whispered something Gimli could not hear and pressed his lips to Faramir's, forcing his breath into the man's lungs. After trying this twice more, whispering in elvish each time, Faramir's eyes opened and he gasped, drawing breath on his own.

Legolas, too, was breathing hard, but he smiled at the dwarf and said, "Now, Gimli, you may stop singing."

Gimli closed his mouth and opened it again to protest the mocking look in the elf's eyes, but he noticed the elf begin to sway and eased him back into the chair instead. "You will sit still a moment, for you are not yet at your full strength."

On the cot, Faramir gingerly sat up and looked around, his eyes lighting on Legolas and Gimli in confusion. "Legolas? Gimli? What has happened? Where are we? Where is Eowyn?"

Gimli sighed and put a broad hand on the man's shoulder. "One question at a time, lad. We are glad to see you awake."

Faramir blinked and looked around at the tent. "I was…injured? How?"

"What is the last thing you remember?" asked Legolas.

Faramir thought a moment, then answered, "I was walking with Eowyn, and we were going to send you a message to see if it we could take the children with us to visit your folk. It appears that this is not true?"

"It is true enough, I believe, only I received your message a month ago. You and your family arrived in Ithilien two weeks ago, and much has happened since then. We have little time to explain it, but I will tell you all that is necessary." Legolas quickly explained the burning of Ithilien and their time in captivity, glossing over much of it until he told of how he encouraged Faramir to drink the ungolnen. "For that I am deeply sorry, for it seems to have had something of an ill affect on you and I was wrong in my thinking. The horses I heard belonged to Eowyn and the twins, not our captors, and so we were rescued but believed dead."

"Speaking of which, Orophin gave me these for the two of you," interrupted Gimli, producing two large pieces of lembas and an apple from his numerous pockets. "You have been dead – er, asleep, for three days, and while that might be well enough for a healthy elf it is far too long for a hurt one or a human." He gave a piece of waybread to each, and at Legolas' insistence awarded the apple to Faramir. As they ate, Gimli did he best to explain the rest of the story.

"Ah! Curse these men and curse my weakness! I do not know rightly if I can stand, let alone fight!" Faramir exclaimed when the dwarf finished.

"You must," said Legolas, the edge to his voice surprising the mortals, "you will never forgive yourself if you do not, for there is more to this tale. Gwarod, the one who ordered our torture, has captured Lady Arwen and Prince Eldarion, and Aragorn has gone after them. None have seen your wife or your children, and though Rúmil and Orophin gone to find them I fear they are all in grave danger. I for one will not sit idly while I have the chance to claim justice and save my people."

Faramir nodded grimly, "I feel the same. I _will _protect my family!" He swung his legs over the side of the bed and slowly got to his feet. His limbs were as cooperative as those of a newborn foal, but he managed to keep his balance and give strength to his words, "Give me arms, and let us go!"

**XXX**

Arwen had been sleeping peacefully, one arm wrapped around her son, when a shout from outside woke her. Before she could do more than shake Eldarion into wakefulness and pull on a purple dressing gown, dark figures entered the tent with raised weapons. They had ripped Eldarion from her side and threatened to kill him should she scream or struggle, forcing her to submit as they tied her hands and feet and gagged her. Eldarion suffered some similar fate, but one of the men lifted Arwen over his shoulder so that she could not see him. Then a cloak was thrown over her body and she could sense only the dizzying movement of the man who held her.

Some time later the cloak was pulled off, and she could see that they were in the middle of the woods. She did not see Eldarion, only the grim faces of the men. The one who had been carrying her lifted her from his shoulder and forced her feet-first into the entrance of a small cave. As soon as the man let go, she fell to the ground, unable to catch herself with her limbs tied. Dazed by the fall, she allowed another man to drag her over to a corner of the cave, which was larger than she expected.

To her eternal relief she was dropped next to her son, clearly frightened but otherwise unharmed. Seeing this, she continued a visual exploration of their surroundings, making note of anything that might be used to escape. A few torches showed the cave to be formed of stone and dirt, with a few sturdy tree roots creeping in. There were three men with them, and she presumed there were others who had been left outside, too large to fit through or not important enough to take up space. Indeed, the three who remained with them looked strong, agile, and attentive, each with a stolen sword drawn and two with knives in their belts. The torches' fire made the metal edges of their weapons glint red, and Arwen shivered; these men had already killed, and it was unlikely they would hesitate to dispatch the queen and the prince.

A forth man dropped into the cave, landing ungracefully but solidly. This one was smaller than the others, with greasy black hair and cruel blue eyes. He stood straight, obviously proud to have accomplished their capture, and when he turned to them Arwen could read the madness within his eyes. This, then, was Gwarod, the one who had brought about so much destruction. Arwen wriggled closer to her son and glared right back.

The man smiled unpleasantly, "Greetings, your majesties, though our meeting will be short. I have just a bit of business to address with you before you depart. Should you answer smoothly and with truth, than I will kill you swiftly, but should you try any of your wicked elvish magic, you will beg me to end it. I will do what I must for the sake of my race."

He removed the gag from Arwen's mouth and she eagerly drew in a lungful of air. "Release my son as well, he will not yell for help," she, shooting Eldarion a meaningful work.

"If he does he will find his tongue removed," snarled Gwarod, although he did remove the gag from the young prince.

"Will you not untie us? I am just a maid, and he is only a boy. What could we do against four strong men?" Arwen asked.

"Hah! A good try, elf, but I know your ways! I have given you enough power just by allowing you to speak. Remember, just one word in your foul language, and the boy will suffer!" Gwarod replied.

With a sigh, Arwen acquiesced. There was nothing they could do at the moment, though her mind worked quickly to come up with some plan of escape. With all hope, Aragorn was already well on his way to their rescue, if in the end they were unable to rescue themselves.

**XXX**

It really was not fair, in Elrohir's opinion. One moment he had been up in the tree, perfectly able to shoot down the men who were attacking Aragorn, Eowyn, and the Gondorian soldiers, and the next he was staring up at said tree from the ground, his body throbbing with pain. His head spun, making it difficult for him to understand what had just happened. Tree…ground…tree…ground…ah, yes! Tree, then fall, then ground. But something must have happened between the tree and the fall, because Elrohir had not fallen from a tree unaided in over nine hundred years. So what was it?

Tree…fall…ground…tree…pain? There had been sparks of sharp pain before the fall, one in his shoulder and the other in his leg. He managed to move his head enough to see that the shaft of an arrow was sticking out of his shoulder. Oh. Tree, then arrows, then fall, then ground. Now things made sense.

He had been concentrating on the clearing when he caught movement in the trees to their right out of the corner of his eye. He'd barely had time to shout a warning to Elladan that there were men in the forest before several arrows came flying at him, upsetting his balance and sending him to the ground. Elrohir mentally thanked the departed Legolas, since the woodelf had spent years teaching them to fall out of a tree properly, no matter the situation. In fact, Legolas had absolutely delighted in coming up with creative ways to get the twins to fall so that they could 'practice'. Ah, poor Legolas; thoughts of him hurt worse than any amount of arrows or broken bones.

Before Elrohir could make any attempts to discover exactly where those broken bones might be, he heard voices to his right and a group of men, clearly under Gwarod's leadership, made their way over to him. Several held bows, and these were trained on him. Deciding it was best not to tempt them, Elrohir lifted his head weakly before allowing it to drop back gently, closing his eyes and relaxing his muscles in a mock-faint. That was something his father had taught all his children, even the human ones. Even though it had saved their lives several times, watching their powerful father pretend to faint had never failed to send the twins and Arwen into fits of giggles. They were never reprimanded since their mother had laughed along with them before…well, that hurt more than thinking of Legolas.

With his eyes closed, Elrohir relied on his excellent hearing. The clang of swords told him that the fight in the clearing was still going on, apparently uninterrupted and unaware of the new threat (or lack thereof, on his part) in the trees. The men close by were trying to force one of their number to check if Elrohir was dead or not, and it took a great deal of self-control not to smirk at the sound of their nerves. Overhead, there was a soft rustling of branches; Elladan was still in the trees, he was alive! Of course, in his current state Elrohir had no way to inform his twin that he, too, was still fairly well. They had learned long ago that head injuries tended to disrupt their bond, and he was still too dizzy to concentrate on it.

Leaves crunched under the feet of one of the men – he must have been the smallest, for his approach was not as easy to catch as that of most humans – and something, probably a longbow, poked him in the side. To his relief, it did not hurt; there was at least one uninjured space on his body for the time being. The human put two fingers against Elrohir's neck, pressing much too hard for the elf's Elrohir's liking. "Yeah, it's alive!" called the man. He spoke through his nose, giving his voice a nasal tone.

"Yah hear that, elf?!" called a much deeper voice, aiming his words in the direction of the tree Elladan had been in before. "Your brother's still alive! You had better come down here now if you want him to stay that way, or we'll just shoot you down too!"

"_Please, Dan, please stay in the trees! Run for help, they'll never catch you when you're moving,_" Elrohir prayed. The branches above him swayed, and he knew his brother was considering the options. "_Don't be a fool, brother! They'll only kill us both if you come down, you cannot save me that way!_"

Large hands grabbed his shoulders and dragged him upward, then pulled his arms behind his back and started to tie them. Elrohir could not help a low moan, for the pain of the movement was fierce. At least his back didn't seem hurt, so he forced himself to remain limp; they would tie him looser if they thought him to be less of a threat. Elrohir bit his tongue and tried to concentrate on listening.

"Elf!" the man called again. "If you don't come down now, I'll kill him, and then we'll use his body to shield us from your arrows!" Someone pulled on Elrohir's hair, forcing his head back. Something cold and sharp was pressed against his throat.

"Ten seconds, elf! One…two…three…" a bit of pain, and a trickle of warm blood ran down Elrohir's neck. "…four…five…six…seven…eight…"

A musical voice floated down from just above them, "Stop, wait!" "_No, Dan, don't!_"

"Aha! There you are!" Bow strings pulled back and snapped. There was a sharp cry, but the thud that followed was too light to be a body. Elrohir felt his heart beating wildly and forced himself to keep breathing evenly. Elladan had surely been shot, but what then? His head spun again as his hair was released and his head dropped back against his chest.

"He's stuck in the tree!" cried the nasal voice.

"Tha's alright, we only need one of 'em now! You hit him in the chest, didn't you?" said a new one.

"'Course I did! I never miss!"

"This one's still alive, ain't he?"

"I…I thought to shoot him to the ground! Thought the fall'd kill 'im!"

The deep voice ended the argument. "Shut it, it doesn't matter now! The elf up there's not moving, and he dropped his bow. He must be dead, and if he isn't he won't be going anywhere. We'll take this one, and I'm sure he'll make the puppet king surrender real easy. 'Til the queen's dead, anyway, and then Gwarod says he won't give a damn about these elves, he might even hate them for putting him under their spells!"

Elrohir felt his stomach fill with cold dread. "_Arwen. Aragorn. Elladan! Ai, we are in deep trouble now. This is the part where Legolas is supposed to come in with a horde of woodelves and call us haughty Noldor. Or Faramir is supposed to bring in his rangers and do something incredibly clever! But they're dead, they can't help us anymore…Dear Eru, Dan, I hope you're not dead! You can't be dead. I still feel you in my heart…oh please, please don't be dead!_" He usually did not second guess their bond, but Elrohir could feel that something was horribly wrong with his brother, and he was not entirely sure what it would feel like if Elladan were to die. He had assumed he would feel empty, but maybe…

He was lifted and dragged into the clearing, unable to stop another moan. The deep voice was shout again, this time loud enough to be heard over the fighting, "Hail Elessar, oh puppet king of the elves! Stop this mad fighting, for we've something that may change your minds!"

The clatter of swords faltered, and Elrohir heard several distinct gasps, one most certainly from Lady Eowyn. "Elrohir!" that was Aragorn's voice, in a whisper only an elf could hear. Elrohir wished he could give the man some sign that he was better then he looked. Well, he seriously hoped he was better than he looked or felt, because whether or not he could actually stand remained to be seen. Now both sides called a hold to the battle and Elrohir was unceremoniously dropped to the ground.

"If you are still over-much attached to the life of this creature, I would suggest that you, the lady, and your men drop your weapons, now!"

Last time they had demanded such a thing, Elladan had gotten shot. Elrohir decided it was time he voiced his prayers. When he opened his eyes he saw only shoes, so he arched his back and craned his neck. The position was painful, but he could see Aragorn, standing with Eowyn at his side and several guards in front of them. "Estel, baw! Im maer, la lasto a hyn!" (Estel, no! I am well, do not listen to them!)

Someone kicked him hard in the ribs, causing him to yelp and cough. The same, heavy foot was placed squarely on his back, pressing him painfully back to the ground. "No more spells, elf, or I will cut out your tongue! A clever trick you played, pretending to be dead, but it has helped you brother none, and it shan't help you!" said the man with the deep voice.

Aragorn growled, "Let him up! Where is my other brother?"

A smirk could be heard even through the smallest man's nasal tone, "Brother, eh? You won't think that soon enough. We left 'im as a little snack for the birds, dead up in a tree."

Eowyn gasped, and Elrohir shook his head as much as he could. It was not true. Elladan was not dead. They were twins, _elven_ twins, they were more than brothers; he would know for sure if Elladan was dead! …wouldn't he?

"I do not believe you," said Aragorn, his voice surprisingly calm.

"Be he dead or not, I will let you watch us spill the blood of this one if you do not do as we say!" said the deep voice, and Elrohir groaned as the pressure on his back increased.

This time Aragorn hesitated and Eowyn spoke, her voice steady as the vast plains of Rohan. "If you kill him now you lose your bargaining chip, and if I guess correctly you will kill him and all the rest of us anyway once we do as you ask."

"A fair point, lady," said the deep voice, "yet I have an answer. We will not kill him, but make him bleed slowly, so that the ground here will ever be stained with it. Hmm, where shall we start?"

"The ears!" called another voice. "The others' were great fun!"

The men laughed. Elrohir was dragged upward by his hair so that he could see the look of horror in the faces of his allies. A cold steel dagger was placed behind the tip of his ear, and he felt his blood freeze. It must have shown in his face, because in the next moment Aragorn dropped his sword and held up his hands in surrender. "I will not let that be your fate, gwador," he whispered. Around them, swords dropped as the guards obeyed the will of their king.

**XXX**

In all the years he had known both elf and man, Gimli had never seen either of them drunk – despite his many attempts to get the elf inebriated. The ungolnen, however, had a devastating effect on the systems of mortal and immortal alike, leaving both incapable of walking a straight line without aid. As a result, the man and the elf had been ordered to share the horse while the dwarves ran alongside.

Arod was keeping a smooth, slightly slower stride for the sake of his riders and the dwarves who were trying to keep up, but it did little to help. Faramir had yet to remember any of what had happened, and the mortal was unable to heal nearly as quickly as the elf. Even Legolas winced every once and a while when he was jostled awkwardly. Gimli was beginning to wonder exactly how any of them intended to defend themselves like this, let alone rescue anyone else.

"A large part of me hopes all of this is over by the time we find anyone, despite my wish for those wicked men to get a taste of my blade," Kirin muttered.

"Who did you say had taken them again?" asked Faramir.

"Men, some wicked and some only misled. Their leader is called Gwarod," Legolas explained.

Faramir sighed, "You say the name as though it were poison, yet I remember nothing of it!"

"Your memories will return in time, Faramir," Legolas promised, "it will just take a little longer."

"That's right, lad, show some of that Valar-given patience you are so famed for!" Gimli grinned. "I am afraid I have been lax in telling you of Lord Faramir, Kirin, but he is an excellent steward. Were it not for him and his wisdom, I've no doubt Aragorn would have gone off to start several wars. He is a good king, make no mistake, but he is a warrior, and it is always difficult for warriors to settle into times of peace."

Kirin smirked, "Warriors like you, uncle?"

"Yes, and Legolas too! We all need level-headed companions like Faramir, though I'm afraid Legolas is stuck with a bunch of flighty elves who would rather consider the state of the stars or the wings of a butterfly!" Gimli replied.

"Watch your words, Master Dwarf. I have retrieved my weapons, and no matter the state of my health I am quite capable of using them," said Legolas, the threat only half-hearted.

Faramir smiled a bit; the banter helped to ease the tension of the night and take his mind away from his hurting body. "I am not nearly as good as all that. You only need ask my wife to be reassured!"

"There is no accounting for the lady's taste in men," Gimli grumbled, "she did go after Aragorn, after all."

"She chose Faramir, and do you mean to insult the Lady Arwen as well, Gimli?" said Legolas.

"Well, I…"

Legolas laughed, "Peace, my friend. I know."

Kirin shushed them all, as much to his surprise as theirs. He had not meant to sound disrespectful, but none of them had been listening to him amidst their laughter. "I am sorry, but I thought I saw someone up ahead." He had slowed to a stop, and with a word to Arod the others turned back as well. "This place is unnerving; earlier in the eve it was filled with mourners, and now it is empty. The smell of smoke is heavy, and the ground shakes as though there are many trampling feet nearby."

"Do not apologize for that, lad!" said Gimli. "You are quite right! That's good dwarven blood, that is."

"I sense no one nearby, but considering the current state of my body that is of little worth," Legolas admitted. "For this once, I am afraid we will have to rely on the skills of the dwarves!"

Suddenly a woman's scream split the night and all four looked to their right. Light from a large fire was clear, but little else could be discerned through the rows of tents. Arod snorted and stamped his feet in agitation. Faramir frowned, "That was not the Lady Arwen, nor was it Eowyn. What is down that way?"

"I know not," said Gimli, "but the tent of the king lies straight ahead, and that is where we found traces of the queen and the prince. Whoever screamed, I do not believe they are near those we search for."

"Perhaps not, but the voice was familiar still," said Faramir. "We cannot simply leave a lady in distress."

"Nor can we abandon our original mission," Legolas added.

The woman screamed again, and this time they could hear her words, "Help! Oh, run, children, run!"

"Could it be?" whispered Faramir. "That sounds much like Lady Wilwarin, the woman who serves as a nurse for Elboron and Faelwen."

"You dare not take the chance to leave them, or you will never forgive yourself," Legolas sighed. "We will detour."

"Nay!" exclaimed Faramir. "Let us separate, so that we will see all our promises fulfilled. I can see no other way for this to end, no matter how it weakens us."

"Faramir is right," Gimli admitted. "There is no time for detours, whether to find the children or the queen. Kirin, go with Faramir and protect him as you can. I have faith in you."

"I will not fail you, uncle," Kirin promised, puffing out his chest with pride.

Legolas hesitated, "Is this wise? We are still somewhat incapacitated…"

"Legolas, my children could be in danger, but so could the dear prince. We have no other choice!" said Faramir.

Legolas nodded, "I like it not, but I suppose you are right." With great effort and a face set against pain, the elf dismounted.

"What are you doing?!" Gimli hissed.

"Arod cannot be split in half," Legolas shrugged. "It would be better for Faramir to take him, so that he can catch up to us later. I am better healed than he; the walk will not strain me so much."

Gimli looked like he would protest again, but Faramir interrupted with a sigh, "He is right. I still very much doubt my ability to walk any distance with confidence. Do you wish to ride with me, Kirin?"

The young dwarf backed away from Faramir's offered hand, "Nay sir, I have not uncle's liking for the beasts. To ride here on the ponies was enough for me."

Legolas smirked in Gimli's direction, "Since when have you had any liking for horses?"

Gimli crossed his arms, "Among my folk, to be willing to ride at all is considered a liking for the silly creatures." Arod tossed his head, giving another agitated snort. "Ah, hush, horse, you know I like ye well enough."

Shaking his head, Legolas patted Arod's neck as he spoke to Faramir. "Go with the grace of the Valar, and I pray we meet again. I do not want to have to revive you a second time."

Faramir bowed as best he could, "Thank you, my friend, and may the forest give you its strength."

Gimli and Kirin clutched one another's right hand briefly, then separated. "Your mother will kill me if anything happens to you, lad, so you had best return to me in nothing less than perfect health!"

"I will, uncle. You do the same, or she will kill _me_!" Kirin replied. With a final look back at Legolas and Gimli, Faramir urged Arod toward the rising flames, Kirin following at a steady pace.

"We had best make haste as well, Legolas," said Gimli after a moment. "Where we find Arwen and Eldarion we are sure to find Gwarod, and then you can have your fabled elven vengeance. I must admit, I am glad not to be on the receiving end."

Legolas growled towards the clear path of destruction ahead of them, leading from the royal tent to the edge of the woods. "He is going to pay. If it is the last thing I do, I will see the life flee from his miserable body!"

Wisely, Gimli choose not to reply.

**XXX**

Arwen never thought she would be thankful for the years of torment and teasing she had endured at the hands of her elder brothers, but at the moment she could have kissed them. They had taught her a good trick or two in all of their mischief, and she had managed to get her hands untied even with Gwarod staring her down. Her wrists had been tied behind her back, and so long as she was leaned against the cave wall none could see the way she twisted her nimble fingers. Now she just had to wait for the men to be distracted, at least long enough for her to untie her feet.

She had been answering Gwarod's questions with lies that were just plausible enough to keep him happy, but she could tell he was beginning to suspect something was wrong. Luckily, a call from the cave's entrance gained Gwarod's attention. "Oy! I have a report on the king! He is nearby; our allies have finally captured him and his companions!"

"What?!" Gwarod turned to the three men still with him in the cave. "Watch them while I go listen to this," he ordered. Then he disappeared up a ladder that had been placed at the entrance.

Arwen was halfway finished freeing her legs by the time the men had their full attention on her again. In the time it took them to take out their swords and raise them against her, she was already running towards them. Surprised by her offensive tactic, the man in front was easily overcome with the appropriate combination of kicks in certain areas of his anatomy. Arwen grabbed his dropped sword and hit him over the head with the hilt, leaving her with only two adversaries.

The men converged on her, but again she surprised them by dancing out of the way and pointing the sword toward her son. Eldarion, too, looked shocked until the blade sliced easily through the ropes binding his ankles. With a wry grin and an implicit trust in his mother, the young prince turned and felt the cool whoosh of the sword pass between his wrists, freeing him completely. He and Arwen both turned to find the men inches away from them, swords raised to kill. Arwen deflected one blow while Eldarion ducked low under the second, kicking out with one leg as he did. The large man fell to the ground with a thud, but he did not give up easily. Eldarion found himself wrestling with a man several times his size, the clink of blades still sounding in the background.

The man abandoned his sword to wrap both hands around Eldarion's throat. Instantly his air supply was cut off, and the prince began to wonder if they would escape from here after all. Then the man gasped and his grip went slack. Eldarion shoved the weight off of his chest and looked up to see his mother offering him a hand. "That is why your father and I encourage you to practice so often. I had to work very hard to have any chance sparring with your uncles, and now I doubt if there is a man in the world who could best me, save perhaps your father." Even as she lectured her son, Arwen's eyes glittered dangerously. No one hurt her baby and got away with it.

Eldarion accepted her hand and pulled himself to his feet. He looked down to see that the man who had tried to strangle him had been pierced through his back. The blade must have struck his heart, for the man already appeared to be dead. The first man Arwen had disarmed was still unconscious, but the third remained nowhere to be seen. "Where is the last one?" he asked.

"The coward ran away, I am sure to warn Gwarod. We must act quickly; here, take this," Arwen handed him her sword. "I will use that one," she pointed to the dead man's weapon, but before she could lean over to take it a leering face appeared over her shoulder.

"NANETH!" Eldarion screamed.

Arwen turned just in time to catch a blow from the flat edge of Gwarod's sword on the side of her head. The queen crumbled to the ground. Eldarion stared from his mother to Gwarod and the two men that had entered the cave with him. He felt his body tremble, but he put on what he hoped was a threatening face. "You will not get away with this."

Gwarod laughed, "Child, I do not intend to. I intend to be praised for ridding this world of the last of the elves and their spawn! Your uncles are already dead, your mother is helpless, and your father is surely beginning to see the error of his ways. You are all that stands in my way."

Eldarion narrowed his eyes, "Then stand I shall, just as my father did before the Black Gate. I am no child. You will plague my people no longer!"

Gwarod laughed again, "Then come, boy, stand and fight! None of my men shall interfere, and I will see you fall along with the rest!"


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

Thanks so much for your reviews! I apologize for the wait. Originally this chapter was going to be a lot longer, but this felt like a (relatively) decent place to pause so that I could actually post something! I'm afraid that, as a result of the split, I have rectified very little in this chapter. At the very least, those of you who have been waiting to see a livid elf prince will be pleased. For everyone else, NEXT time...well, you'll just have to wait and see. Enjoy!

* * *

Faramir dismounted when they were still several tents away from the actual fire. He told Arod to remain while he and Kirin slunk forward, hiding behind another tent so that they would not be seen. The sight that greeted Faramir next was one that would haunt the steward's nightmares for years to come. A group of five armed men, with their backs to Faramir and Kirin, was advancing on a very old woman who was holding her walking stick defensively in shaking hands. Behind her stood two small children, a boy and a girl, frozen in terror and unable to heed the calls of the young woman who urged them desperately to run with her. The matron who had been their nurse lay a little ways to the side, next to the soldier who had been charged with guarding them. Beneath them was a pool of blood that shone brightly in the light of the burning tents around them. Even if the younger woman did manage to get the children to move, there was nowhere for them to run; they were surrounded by fire on all sides but one, and the men blocked their path to safety.

"Faramir?"

He looked down at Kirin and removed his arm from the dwarf's shoulders. "Thank you for your strength, my friend," he whispered, "but now I must use my own. Those children are mine, and these ladies have been family to me."

"Then we will lay waste to those who would bring them harm. May I?" asked Kirin, gesturing to his ax and then to the men.

Faramir's mouth twitched into a grim smile, "By all means, but allow me to gain their attention." He stepped out from behind the tent and walked closer, easing a longbow from his back and lining up an arrow. He pulled back the string and released it, the arrow easily embedding itself in the neck of one of the men. The man gave a brief cry before falling to the ground dead. The other men turned to face Faramir, the only archer left among them keeping his aim on the women and children. The other men moved to protect him as they faced down the hooded man and the young dwarf who dared to interfere.

"You will pay for that with your life!" hissed the one in the middle.

Faramir drew back his hood, allowing the firelight to dance on his features so that the men could see who he was. "I already have."

Lady Firiel, the old woman, gasped, "Faramir?"

"Daddy!" shouted the little girl. The young woman, Lady Rían, wrapped her arms around Faelwen and Elboron to keep them from running to their father, although Elboron seemed to have forgotten how to move at all.

"Stand your ground, men!" shouted one of their attackers. "There's no such thing as ghosts! This is some trick, and this man will be as easy to kill as any other!" The man's brown hair turned red in the light of the fire, and his open shirt displayed a prominent scar across the chest.

Faramir stabbed the end of his bow into the ground, where it stood on its own as he unsheathed his sword. Now that their eyes were on him, they were too close to the children for him to risk using a ranged weapon. "You are welcome to try," he said in a threateningly calm voice. "No one hurts my family. If I must die and return a thousand times to protect them, I will." He distinctly heard some of them men whisper about elvish magic, and they shifted uncomfortably. Faramir growled, "Drop. Your. Weapons."

The hands of three men shook, and the archer's aim wavered. The man with the scar spoke again, "I tell you, this is naught but more elvish trickery! You see how it is transferred through the children? Kill them, and he will disappear!"

Kirin took a step closer, "Do you expect me to disappear as well? Who has ever heard of a _dwarf_ submitting to silly elven charms? Come a little closer, and we will show you how real our blades are."

"Draug, now! Shoot them now!"

"It will be the last thing you ever do," Faramir hissed.

The archer called Draug began to lower his bow. With a growl of frustration the scarred man snatched Draug's bow and pushed him aside. "Give me that! I will do what you cannot! They are just children!"

Faramir dropped his sword, picked up his bow, and fitted an arrow to it while Kirin started running for the other men with a deep war cry. Faramir released his arrow at the same time as the man, and although he knew the man would be dead he watched in horror as a barbed arrow headed straight for the frozen Elboron. With a panicked scream, Lady Rían dropped to her knees and pushed Faramir's children out of the way. The arrow struck her breast and she fell back.

**XXX**

Rúmil and Orophin paused just before they reached the place that had once been home to several of their friends who perished in the first attack. They had followed the sounds of fighting, until the sounds of metal on metal were replaced with raised voices.

"_Let him up! Where is my other brother?"_

"_Brother, eh? You won't think that soon enough. We left 'im as a little snack for the birds, dead up in a tree."_

The conversation got quieter. Orophin gestured to his brother, and the two moved closer.

"_The ears! The others' were great fun!"_

Then there was laughter and the clatter of steal. The watching elves instantly understood the need for surrender, for now their sharp eyes could pick up what was going on beyond the trees in which they hid. Aragorn and Eowyn stood amongst the king's personal guard, all with their hands raised in surrender. Gwarod's men surrounded them, and one group held a prisoner. One of the twins was being pulled up by his hair, and there was a dagger held against his ear. The men let his head drop back to the ground with more laughter.

Orophin growled, "These men…these wretched yrch!"

"It seems they require another lesson, brother," said Rúmil, already fitting an arrow to his bow. "I will take the two on Elrohir's right, if you will take the large one holding him down?"

"Agreed, it will take at least two arrows to bring that one down. One to get his attention so he does not fall on our friend, and another through his brain," Orophin replied. "Hold a moment; I will take to the branches and remain there to cover you. That way you will not worry over my leg and get yourself injured in the process."

Rúmil grinned, "You know me too well, Phin."

"Too well indeed," Orophin replied. "Help me to the first branch, and then I think I can manage the way myself." Once Rúmil could see that Orophin was settled high in the tree, he took out the first arrow and fit it to his bow. He kept himself hidden at the edge of the woods, but the men were so focused on their captives he doubted they had any awareness of what was happening beyond the clearing. Hoping to give Aragorn and the others some warning, he mimicked the call of a bird that lived nowhere in Ithilien.

To his surprise, the call was returned. It could not have come from Aragorn, who had masked his brief surprise at the sound quickly. Nor could it have been Elrohir, since the men were currently forcing his face into the dirt. No, the call had come from the trees across the clearing. He searched their branches with his eyes, but could discern no one. Whoever it was, they were wise enough to stay well out of sight.

Rúmil pulled back on the bow string and released his first arrow. Even as it struck the first man through the throat he was releasing another arrow and watching as Orophin's second arrow struck the largest man right between the eyes. Now Elrohir was free enough to turn himself into a more comfortable position, and attention turned to the woods. To his eternal relief, Aragorn had understood Rúmil's warning and wasted no time in rushing forward to Elrohir's aid. Eowyn had the presence of mind to retrieve her weapon and the king's before following him, and the guards followed her lead.

To keep their attention on him, Rúmil stepped into the moonlight with his bow drawn. "Rhachon le, gurth 'ni le!" (I curse you, death to you!)

"More elves!" shouted one of the men, the same who had led the original attack on Eowyn and the twins. "See how he tries to regain power with wicked words? Kill him, kill the damned creature!" While the invaders shouted insults at the elf and started towards him, Aragorn and one of his guards gently carried Elrohir to relative safety behind their lines. Eowyn handed Andúril to Aragorn, who took it and watched with mild surprise as the lady leapt forward. She grabbed the leader from behind and put her sword against his neck. Her free hand wrapped around the man's right wrist and wrenched it backward and up, forcing him to release his own sword.

"I would not do that if I were you," she said against his ear. "You have no idea who you are dealing with."

Rúmil gave them a wicked grin, "I need no words to regain power, for power was never mine to take. Keep that one gently, my lady, he must be of some significance if these orcs obey him with such ease, and I am sure the king will want to question him." The others had frozen, apparently confused by the sudden shift in the balance of power.

"I will question him," hissed Eowyn. "Where are my children?"

"I do not know," the man growled.

"Do they live?"

"I do not know."

"What of the queen and the prince?"

"I do not –" Eowyn pulled up on the man's arm. "Captured!"

Aragorn took a step forward. When he spoke his voice was low and dangerous, but his eyes displayed his worry, "Where are they now?"

"In the woods somewhere, I know nothing more of them, save that they are to die, and you can do nothing," the man replied, a nasty smirk appearing on his face.

Eowyn did not see the look, but she heard it in his voice and snapped the bone in his arm with a final twist. The man yelled in agony. Eowyn growled in his ear, "Where is my husband?!"

"I do not know!"

"Oh?" The man's eyes widened as the lady's sword pressed closer against his throat. "Does he live, then?"

"N-no."

"Can you bring him back?"

The man hesitated before answering, "No."

She pulled the sword across his throat. "Then what use are you?" The man fell dead at her feet.

Rúmil blinked, "Gently?"

Eowyn shrugged, "It slipped."

Then the clearing erupted into battle again. The invading men no longer had a clear leader, yet they followed Gwarod's highest orders: keep the king busy until the queen was dead, no matter what it took. With arrows flying from the trees again and their weapons in hand, the Gondorians had little trouble holding their own even as they protected the badly injured Elrohir. Aragorn was able to gain enough ground to kneel next to his foster brother and cut away the ropes that bound him.

"How badly are you hurt?" Aragorn asked.

"Nothing that will kill me quickly, if that is what you mean," the elf replied with a groan. "Unless these men poison their arrows?"

Aragorn shook his head, "The only poison found in their camp was that which took Legolas and Faramir…ah! I had nearly forgotten!"

Elrohir frowned, "What new devilry could this be? Tell me they have not defiled the bodies of our friends!"

"Nay, nay!" Aragorn smiled. "It is a long story, but if Gimli is right then our friends will be restored to us!"

"Gimli? Restored? Ai, Estel, I must have hit my head harder than I believed. Your words make no sense to me."

"They will in time, brother. Rest easy until this fight is won, and then you shall be able to rejoice."

"Only if Elladan is able to rejoice by my side," Elrohir sighed.

Aragorn gently brushed the hair from Elrohir's face. "Do you believe he is lost?"

Elrohir closed his eyes for a moment. "No," he declared once he opened them again. "I cannot believe he is lost, or I will lose myself."

"Then do not despair for him; we will find them all, Elrohir, and when the sun dawns we will celebrate a true renewal of life," Aragorn smiled.

**XXX**

"Listen, lad – there is some fighting in these woods. That must be the right way," said Gimli. He and Legolas had just come the edge of the trees. The path was no longer clear, and they needed to make a choice.

Legolas shook his head. He was leaning against a tree, one palm flat against it, and Gimli was one of the few who could tell that the elf was actually using it for support. "We must follow the trees, they know the way."

"What are you talking about? This is no time for fanciful –"

Legolas pointed to a mark low on the tree's trunk, "There is your evidence. The tree was cut to mark a path, and certainly not by an elven hand. Besides, the trees whisper of an elfling in danger. There is only one elfling in these parts."

"Eldarion," said Gimli. "We should leave a more noticeable sign, should anyone try to follow us."

Legolas nodded, "But what could we use? I cannot allow you to mark the trees with your ax, if only for your sake – I do not believe you would be able to enter Ithilien again."

"A tragedy indeed, but what is more important?"

"Ah, wait!" Legolas exclaimed. He pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back, put it to his bow, aimed, and fired it into a nearby tree. It embedded itself and stuck almost straight out, a clear sign even in the dim light of a the torch Gimli carried. "I am afraid my bow is of little other use for the moment; I have not yet the strength to wield it with much accuracy, but I can surely shoot into the trunk of a tree. They will not mind it so much, and I believe they will accept my apologies."

"I see your mind has not been dulled in my absence!" Gimli praised. The pair continued their trek into the woods, following the marks on the trees and pausing every few feet to leave another arrow. "They call the prince an elfling?" asked Gimli.

Legolas smiled and released another arrow before answering. "Sometimes, yes. It depends on who is with him and how he is carrying himself. The trees are angry with men at the moment, and they do not wish to group Eldarion with them. They are worried, though; something about trouble beneath their roots. I am not sure what that means."

"Don't look at me!" said the dwarf. "I'm no tree talker!" Legolas chuckled and replaced the bow on his back. The pair continued like this until they came upon a bush that had been trampled flat in the middle, revealing the entrance to a small cave.

Legolas frowned, "I have no memory of this place."

"Nor do I. It must have been chance that these men stumbled upon it," said Gimli. They snuck closer, until they could hear a voice from within that made Legolas' ears ring.

"_You said that you were not a child, didn't you?"_ There was a sharp cry of pain and then harsh laughter; there was more than one enemy below. _"Well then, I will spare you any childish mercy."_

Legolas clenched his fists, "That is the man I am going to kill tonight. You may dispose as you will of any others, but leave Gwarod to me. Get Arwen and Eldarion out if you can." He pulled off his bow and quiver, planting the base of the bow in the dirt next to the bush so that it would stand as a final marker of their whereabouts.

Gimli looked over the elf with a critical eye, "Are you sure you are well enough to fight? I mean no offense, but you look rather…well, you look like the living dead. There's even a leaf in your hair."

Surprisingly, the elf did not bother to care for his appearance. Instead his lips curved into a smile that sent shivers through the dwarf. "All the better. We may surprise them for a moment, and it looks like there is a bit of a drop before we hit the floor. Let me go in first; your armor will make too much noise." Gimli opened his mouth to protest, but the slight move forward made his chainmail clink. With a sigh he acquiesced and watched the elf slide gracefully into the cave.

Inside, Gwarod was advancing on the young prince. He had two swords raised, one taken from the boy and the other his own, and it seemed that the fight was nearly over. Eldarion knelt on the floor near his unconscious mother, his right arm clutched tightly to his chest. A man's body lay close to the same spot, and another lay closer to the entrance. Two more men stood by the wall, engrossed in the duel and unaware of the elf's presence.

"You will die like a man, and then your mother and I will have a little fun," Gwarod sneered.

"No!" Eldarion shouted, reaching for his mother's fallen blade now that he had lost his own to the enemy. "I will never let you hurt her!"

"Then you have failed already!" the man laughed. "You are not a child, prince, but you are far from a man. You cannot save her, nor can you save yourself!" No one took any note of the thud accompanying Gimli's arrival.

The boy was trembling, partially from fear and partially from the effort of holding onto the sword. His father had taught him well, but he was still unused to holding a heavy weapon with his left hand. With a single sweep and the ring of metal on metal, the man forced Eldarion to release his grip and let the sword slide out of reach. Eldarion squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, not quite able to keep his tears at bay. "Long live King Elessar! Valar bless the Princes of Ithilien!"

"The princes of Ithilien are _dead_, boy," hissed Gwarod, "and soon you will join them!"

"I suggest you reconsider your words," called Legolas. All eyes turned to the newcomers, who stood just underneath the entrance to the cave. Legolas brandished his twin knives while Gimli held his ax with both hands.

"Impossible!" Gwarod spat. "I watched them carry your body away! I heard them mourn your passing, and I saw you whipped within an inch of your life!"

"Things are not always what they seem, Gwarod, and I know of several good humans who can attest to that," Legolas replied. "You are not one of them. You are malicious, cruel, and ignorant; and I am going to kill you. Not because you are a human, but because you do not deserve the title. You have ruined my home, poisoned the minds of your own people, and you have tried to destroy my family! That is unforgivable."

"This…you can't be…you…" Gwarod stammered, dropping his borrowed sword. "This is some sort of elvish trick!"

"Not at all. I have grown quite tired of your tricks and games, and now I am going to avenge my people," Legolas growled. "Raise your weapon. Fight someone who can fight you back!" As Legolas advanced on their leader, the remaining guards started to step forward. Gimli leapt at them with all the fire of a dragon, and they quickly fell dead under his ax.

Gwarod grabbed Eldarion's injured arm and dragged the boy upward. Eldarion sobbed in pain, even as the sword was placed against his throat. "Take one more step, be ye elf or ghost, and I will kill this half-bred bastard."

In the blink of an eye Legolas ran forward, cut into Gwarod's wrist, and pulled Eldarion free. He left the boy panting against the wall and turned back to face an astonished and disarmed Gwarod. "COWARD!" Legolas yelled. "Pick up your sword! Fight me!" When Gwarod hesitated, Legolas bent down and thrust the sword hilt into Gwarod's hands. "FIGHT!" The elf switched one of his knives so that he had a free hand and landed a hard punch to the man's jaw. The bone cracked under the force and Gwarod fell back, reeling in pain. The elf was too angry to note the damage the move caused to his own hand, and held both knives at the ready.

Meanwhile, Gimli had made his way over to wall and gently pulled at Eldarion's left shoulder to gain his attention. Eldarion blinked, "Uncle Gimli?"

"Yes, Dari, it's me."

"Are we dead?"

Gimli grinned, and the prince tried to ignore the bits of blood that had splattered in the dwarf's beard. "Most certainly not!"

"Then the Valar must have sent you to us, for surely Legolas…"

The dwarf held up a hand to cut Eldarion off. "There is much to explain, but no time for questions now! Come on, lad, get up and lean on me. I've been charged with getting you out of this, and I dare say whatever happens next it won't be pretty. Not even an old dwarf like me wants to see the vengeance of an angry elf!"

"I cannot leave! Nana is hurt, I have to protect her!" Eldarion protested, even as he got to his feet and allowed Gimli to lead him toward the ladder at the entrance.

"Don't you worry about her," said Gimli. "You mother is a lot tougher than she looks! Legolas will protect her for now, and as soon as I've gotten you out of here I will go back and get her."

"Promise?"

"By Aule's hammer, I swear I will see her to safety as soon as you are out of harm's way," Gimli promised. Eldarion seemed satisfied with this, and willingly went up the ladder. Gimli caught the prince's foot before he reached the top. The dwarf pulled a knife from his belt and handed it up to his pseudo-nephew. "Keep yourself hidden once you get up there. I don't know who might be lurking in the woods. And don't go wandering about like some scatter-brained elf!"

Eldarion smiled a little, "I promise."

"There's a good lad, steady as stone! Now go!"

**XXX**

"Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!" (The axes of the dwarves! The dwarves are upon you!)

Kirin hefted his ax against the two remaining men as Faramir's arrow dispatched the third. These two seemed to believe in the cause more strongly than Draug the archer, for they raised their swords against him. Kirin used his ax to shield him from both blows before curving it downward, cutting through one man's leg. He fell to the ground screaming. Kirin continued the arc upward and sliced into the second's sword arm. The man clutched his arm and dropped the sword. Had they two been orcs, Kirin would have had no problem relieving them of their heads as well. As it was, he kicked their weapons into the nearby fire. He grabbed Draug by the front of his shirt and growled, "Take care of your friends. I will watch, and should you try to run or harm anyone else, I will take off your head!"

Draug nodded, unable to speak. Kirin threw him towards the others with a particularly scathing look, then went to the older lady. She was leaning heavily on her cane now, one hand holding onto her chest. "Are you well, grandmother?" asked Kirin.

"I am dead!"

Kirin frowned, "Can a healer do nothing?"

"Of course not, I am already gone!" She pointed to Faramir, who was leaning over Rían's body. "He is dead, and so to see him I must be!"

Kirin smiled, "Lord Faramir lives, as do we. Much has happened this night, and I am sure there is much more to come."

Firiel shook her head, "I shall never understand, I suppose; I am much too old for these things. I thought for sure that would be the end of us, and now you tell me that Faramir is alive? Well, at the very least, I thank you for your intervention on our behalf, Master Dwarf. You are Valar-sent."

"I am only glad that we arrived on time," Kirin replied with a slight bow. He looked around the scene and frowned, "Though perhaps not soon enough." The fires still burned wildly, and if they were not put out soon they would consume their only exit. The children's nurse and guard lay dead, as did two of their enemies. Draug and the two others were trembling to one side, eyeing Kirin with an amount of fear that the young dwarf found strangely gratifying. Just behind the old woman Faramir knelt on the ground, leaning over the young lady while his terrified children watched.

"Lean on me, grandmother," Kirin said, offering the woman his shoulder, "perhaps there is still something we can do." Firiel placed a shaking hand on Kirin's shoulder, the other still clutching her walking stick, and the two made their way over to Faramir.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

Finally, I have gotten another chapter! My apologies, RL is incredibly busy these days. Thanks to those of you who are sticking with me anyway, I really appreciate all your comments! Here you will finally recieve some answers, get to see Legolas really let loose, and...oh, wait. That's not until next time ;-P. Happy Halloween!

* * *

As soon as he had been sure the archer was dead, Faramir had raced to the body of his childhood companion. Rían lay on her back, an arrow sticking out of her breast and blood spotting through her dress. With a soft cry of anguish, Faramir knelt down. He could not stand to see her like this, not after so many years of joy in their youth and so much shared heartache when they learned of Boromir's death. He raised his eyes to those of his children. They looked on with fear and wonder; Elboron held out a knife while Faelwen clung desperately to her brother. A knife? Where had Elboron gotten Boromir's knife…?

_Panic, fire, and blood. Faramir could smell it, taste it, and it shook him to his core._

"_We need to separate! Rúmil, take the children through Dol-Eth…"_

"_You'll help Rúmil to protect Faelwen, won't you Elboron?"_

"_Yes, no one's going to hurt my little sister!"_

_He had been hoping to give his son the knife with some ceremony on a later birthday, but now…"Take this, it once belonged to your Uncle Boromir_…_I believe in you, Elboron, and I know you are ready."_

_Then running, fighting, and ice blue eyes. Aid come too late, and not enough of it. He had to protect her, had to protect the one who meant more to him than any other "Eowyn! Eowyn, my love, take Orophin on Arod and get out of here!…If it is within my power, I will live to say that I love you one last time."_

Faramir's memory came flying back to him, making his body go rigid for a moment. He remembered the torture he and Legolas had endured, and the man who had led the others against them. He remembered being dragged away just when hope seemed rekindled, and the last option Legolas had offered. He remembered dying in Eowyn's arms, unable to stay awake with her even as she screamed his name. _"Faramir!"_

"L-lord Faramir?"

Faramir jumped at the soft voice and looked down. Lady Rían was blinking up at him, a look of concern on her pretty face. "Rían! You are alive! How is that possible?"

"I could say the same for you, my lord. Unless we are both dead now?" said the lady.

"Nay! Speak no more of death!" called Kirin. The dwarf's deep voice brought a strange comfort to the humans. "We are alive, and there is more yet to be done. How fair you, lady? We saw you shot." Kirin helped Lady Firiel to make her way toward the children, who coward away from the strange bearded man. Firiel smiled gently and patted Kirin's shoulder, then went to the little ones on her own. Faelwen clung to her skirts, and Elboron moved closer, his knife still raised to defend his sister.

Rían sat up slowly, despite Faramir's protests, and looked down at the arrow. "Let me see to that, if you will allow it," said Faramir. Rían nodded her consent and carefully inspected the wound, moving the fabric of her dress only enough to see what he needed to. To his surprise, the arrow had done no more than cut into her skin. The head of the arrow was wider where it met the shaft, and this part had gotten caught in a delicate golden ring, intricately wrought and with a large diamond in the center. "You are very lucky, my lady. The wound is no more than a scratch, for the end of the arrow head got caught in your ring!"

"Luck indeed!" Kirin exclaimed when he saw what had occurred. "Even an elf would have trouble landing an arrow through something that small, and that is if they were aiming!" Faramir ripped a piece of fabric from the bottom of his shirt, then gently tugged the arrow free and pressed the cloth against Rían's cut.

"It was not chance or luck that saved me, but love," smiled Rían, bringing the ring to her lips and kissing it. "He always promised that he would look out for me. Now I know that he really is still here."

"Boromir," Faramir whispered.

"Yes, I am sure of it! He lives on, and it seems he wants me to live on as well."

"I have always told you so, my dear friend, and now is when you chose to believe me?!" Faramir chuckled. "Hold your hand against the cloth to slow the blood; I do not think it requires more than a bandage, and there is little else I can do anyway."

Rían took the cloth from Faramir and held it on her own. "How strange that my love should lose his life because of a ring, yet save mine with a different one." With help from Kirin, both humans got to their feet.

"Fate is oft tied to the smallest of things, and the ring you wear is made of better stuff than that which took my brother," said Faramir, taking her free hand. "I am sure that he thought your ring to be far more important than any other."

Rían squeezed Faramir's hand. "Bless you, Faramir."

"Nay Rían, bless you!" Faramir laughed, kissing her forehead. "You have saved what is most precious to me." He released the lady and walked over to his children, still huddled together with Lady Firiel. Elboron kept his knife arm raised, rightly frightened by all that had happened. He had seen his nurse and the soldier protecting them killed, watched as an old woman defended them from evil men, saw his dead father reappear, and then kill several men while another lady took an arrow aimed for him. Faramir knelt in front of both children and made sure that they could see his face. "Elboron? Faelwen? You don't have to worry anymore, it's me; it's daddy."

"Are…are you a ghost?" Elboron's voice shook as much as his hand.

"No," Faramir promised, "no, I'm here, real, and alive. I will never hurt you, and I will never let anyone else hurt you again. Put that knife away, and come show me that you live as well!"

Elboron thrust the knife back into his little belt and ran into Faramir's open arms, closely followed by his little sister. "Dad!"

"Daddy!"

"Shh, shh, I'm here now, everything's going to be alright," Faramir promised.

While the little family was reunited, Kirin spoke softly with Rían and Firiel. "We need to leave soon. This fire is out of control, and for now there is nothing we can do. I must find my uncle and Legolas; I fear for their safety."

"Then the elf-lord is also alive?" asked Firiel.

"Yes, Lord Legolas is with my uncle, Lord Gimli. They went after Gwarod, who has taken Queen Arwen and Prince Eldarion," Kirin explained.

"Truly?" said Rían.

"Yes. We have not seen anyone else since we separated," said Faramir, having caught the end of the conversation. He stood up, keeping his arms around his children. Faelwen tugged on his sleeve, asking to be picked up, but Faramir could only pat her head.

"Lord Faramir, what should we do about…" Kirin gestured to the bodies and to the remaining men.

Faramir called to the men, "You there! If you can stand, do so. If you cannot, I suggest you crawl. There is no one to spare for your aid at the moment." The men stood as best they could, one leaning on another who cradled his arm. Faramir pointed to Draug, and then to the bodies of the woman and the soldier. "Carry the Lady Wilwarin into one of the safer tents, and then come back for this fine soldier; I regret that I do not know his name. If you do not do this, I will…" he looked down at his children and took a deep breath. "You will regret it, let me say that much."

"Y-yes sir," Draug replied. He picked up the dead nurse with great care, then returned to his companions.

"Rían, Firiel, will you watch the children once more? You will come with us, of course, until we can find more soldiers – or my wife, who could certainly protect you!"

"We would be happy to look after them," said Firiel. After making sure the bodies of the nurse and the soldier were respectfully cared for, and putting the children on Arod's back, the entire group continued to make their way through the camp.

**XXX**

Elladan had waited until he was sure the men could not see him before extracting the arrow from his jerkin. The force of impact had left him reeling, dropping his weapons in an attempt to remain within the tree. In the end he had let himself fall back onto the branches, and only Legolas' teaching had kept him from following his bow to the dirt below. He shook his head; now was not the time to falter over the dead.

In truth, it was his father who had saved him. When he and Elrohir had set off to avenge their mother, Elrond had presented the pair with matching mithril vests and made them swear to wear the mithril under their other armor or clothing. The twins had kept their promise until the shining vests became like a second skin, rarely removed and comfortable enough to sleep in if the situation required it. Not for the first time Elladan regretted that the vests had no sleeves, allowing arrows to imbed themselves in their shoulders. But when they were younger the twins had felt restricted with so much covering them, and Elrond had been well-aware that they would not have worn a full mithril coat.

Still, the vest had kept the arrow from causing more than a bruise and misbalancing him. With a good tug the arrow pulled free, and after a few moments his breath returned enough for him to begin to make his way down the tree to retrieve his bow. Elladan could feel his brother's anguish and he clenched his teeth. They would pay, of that he would be sure. If Elrohir died, no one would be able to keep Elladan from the brink. He would kill without mercy, and then he would give his own life up to grief. Certainly such a thing would hurt his sister deeply, but Elrohir held half of his soul.

With the borrowed bow and quiver of arrows recollected, Elladan made his way back into the tree, where he would at least be able to shoot anyone intent on bringing harm to his twin. To his surprise, a call came from the other end of the clearing. Elladan instantly recognized it, for it was one he had often used to relay messages with his cousins in Lothlorien when the twins had visited their grandmother. He pursed his lips and repeated the call, then moved back into the branches away from unfriendly eyes. He watched as Rúmil entered the clearing, and could not help a wicked grin moments later when Eowyn slaughtered their enemies' current leader.

A battle broke out in the clearing, and Elladan was eternally grateful to his foster-brother when Aragorn took care to place Elrohir in a slight ditch left by the destruction of the elven-home that had once been here. He took aim with his bow and made sure to cover them as best he could, while more arrows flew from the trees on the opposite side.

The men were disorganized now, fighting only to distract them. Elladan realized with horror that if they succeeded, it would mean death for his sister and his nephew. But there was no way he could leave his brother, even if there was a way for him to escape this fight unseen.

A silver-fletched arrow landed in the back of a man who was trying to sneak up on Rúmil. Of course! The Lorien brothers had become almost as close as the twins, especially since Haldir's death, and one rarely would be found without the other. Orophin would have been left in the trees, where his leg would not put him or anyone else in jeopardy. Elladan whistled over the din of battle, hoping Orophin would remember the rest of their old code and understand his desperate plea. _Go back._

The fire of white arrows faltered, and the call was returned with a note of question. _Why?_

_Family. Danger._

_Yes. Stay. Protect._

_Yes._

The messages were simple, but they were enough. The trees rustled slightly, and Rúmil glanced up for a fraction of a second. Elladan shot at the man who attempted to take advantage of the elf's distraction, but not before a nasty cut appeared on Rúmil's arm. The pain called Rúmil back to the fight, and Elladan mentally apologized. He knew what it was to be separated from a brother, and he desperately prayed he had not just parted the two forever.

**XXX**

The ungainly group of humans and dwarf paused at the edge of the woods. They had left Draug and the other criminals behind when the injured men appeared unable to walk any further, reassured of their compliance when Kirin threatened to remove their legs. Now Faramir, Kirin, Rían, Firiel, and the two children riding Arod had to choose where to stop, for Faramir did not want his children to follow either of the paths before them. The obvious sounds of a fight came from one direction, but in the other the trees had been clearly marked by elven arrows, and Faramir was sure Legolas would follow Gwarod. He intended to do the same, as soon as he could be assured that the women and children were safe.

The answer came when, with the barest rustle of leaves, an elf appeared out of the trees. "Lord Faramir!" Orophin exclaimed. "I am glad to see you awake again. But where are Legolas and Gimli? It seems you have lost some companions and gained others!"

"Ladies Firiel and Rían, along with my children. They were under attack; we separated in order to save them, while Legolas and Gimli went after the queen," Faramir explained, gesturing to the arrows in the trees.

"I see," said Orophin. "Well, I can tell you that I have seen the Lady Eowyn, and she is still well enough. She is part of a battle in a clearing further in the trees, along with King Elessar and the twins – or so I believe. It has all descended into madness, and I have been sent back to see if I can aid Queen Arwen."

"Eowyn is alive!"

"Aye, and grieving for you, as are many others. They do not know you are alive."

"That may yet be to our advantage," said Kirin. "No one will be looking for a dead man, or expecting him to appear."

"Indeed," Faramir agreed. "How faired the battle? Did they need aid?"

"Not much, or I would not have abandoned it," said Orophin.

"If I may," Firiel said quietly, "it seems to me that the best course for us would be to follow those arrows. There is little safety to be had here or anywhere else, and most will be drawn to the sounds of fighting. We can send the horse away with the children if anything happens."

Orophin nodded, "We will be able to protect them best that way, and Arod will certainly carry them to safety."

Faramir shook his head, "I do not like this, I will not lead them to harm!"

"Father," called a small voice.

Faramir blinked in surprise and put his hand on Elboron's knee. "What is it Elboron?"

"We can be brave, father. We can be brave like you and mother, and we can help. Please, let us go with you! We don't want to be left alone again," Elboron begged.

Faramir felt his heart wrench. "Very – very well, if that is what you want. But you must promise to ride away as fast as you can if anything goes wrong, and listen to whatever we tell you!"

"We promise," whispered Elboron. In front of him Faelwen nodded, her little fists buried in Arod's white mane and tears coursing down her dirty cheeks.

"We are agreed then," said Kirin. "We follow the arrows."

**XXX**

Some part of Legolas acknowledged the others in the room; some part knew that Gimli was seeing to the end of the other men and the safety of the royal family. But as soon as he was sure of it, he let it go and focused all of himself on the man cowering in front of him, still reeling in pain from the last blow the elf had dealt him. Legolas let his anger consume his being, and the fury of it burned behind the ice of his eyes. Gwarod would have been a fool not to be afraid.

Legolas took a step back and brought the knives to his sides. "Stand up, human," he spat. "If you are so superior as you say, than I see no reason why you cannot face me! I claim my vengeance, Gwarod, and you will give it to me one way or another. Will you stay down there and die at my feet, trembling like a beaten cur?"

With a growl, Gwarod's fingers tightened on the hilt of the sword and he rose to his feet, already swinging wildly at the elf. Legolas easily leapt out of the way, his laughter so terrible it twisted the hearts of those who heard him. "Yes, fight! Hurt me if you can, but I swear that your life will end this night!"

The elf drove forward then, his knives moving faster than could be seen. Gwarod parried the blows as best he could, but by the time Legolas let up his assault the man was breathing heavily and bleeding from many places. Still, the elf had aimed to sting and not to kill.

"Do not toy with me, elf! I know the ways of your kind, and you shan't have my blood!" Gwarod shouted.

In answer, Legolas kicked out and the man fell heavily on his back once more, all of the wind gone from him. "Toying with you, am I? I am not offering you up to public torture for the amusement of my fellows, nor am I destroying all that you and yours hold dear! I am merely taking what retribution is my _right_." Legolas kicked him again, hard enough to bruise ribs without breaking them. "I will not let you rise a third time. Get up! Even a mongrel will rise to the challenge!"

Again, Gwarod's face contorted with fury and he got to his feet, this time leaving his sword at the defensive. "I killed you once, and I can do it again! There are ways to banish the dead back to the abyss!"

"You have never killed me," said Legolas, "nor have you killed Lord Faramir. We live, and I know in my heart there are others! You have _failed_, Gwarod. No one can erase my people from Middle Earth, for the memory of our songs and our light will linger here when our bodies do not!"

"Your part in this world is _over_," Gwarod hissed, although his voice trembled. "You are the last of a diminished race!"

Again the knives flew, and Gwarod very nearly lost an arm as he was backed up against the wall. They stayed like that for a moment, Legolas pressing his two knives against Gwarod's sword, getting ever-closer to the man's neck. Legolas barely noted the strain, though beads of sweat had started to slide down his forehead and arms, mixing with old wounds and causing them to sting. The elf never flinched, but Gwarod's eyes locked onto something, and his expression changed to a sneer.

"Perhaps you are right, elf, and I did not kill you properly when I had the chance. For there is one thing I know, and that is that ghosts do not bleed!" With a cry, Gwarod forced his weight forward and dislodged the elf. "And things that bleed, can be killed!"

Legolas simply danced away, allowing Gwarod to expend his energy as he chased after the elf. The man was a surprisingly formidable fighter, despite his build, but he was certainly no match for an elf. Gwarod was growing frustrated by Legolas' speed, and paused in his attack to take several deep breaths. "You call me a coward, elf?" Gwarod's chest was heaving and sweat soaked through his clothes along with the blood Legolas had already drawn. "Didn't you say you wanted a fight? Why won't _you_ fight back then?!"

A knife shot out and cut into Gwarod's thigh, making him cry out and hobble backwards. "As you wish," Legolas said. "I grow tired of this." A sharp kick sent Gwarod to his knees. The man swung his sword at Legolas' legs, but the elf jumped above the arc, his boot landing on Gwarod's hand. Before the man could move any further, Legolas flipped on of his knives and drove it through the captive arm and into the ground. Gwarod released his sword with an agonized scream.

Legolas began to circle the man, his remaining knife always pointed toward the man's throat. "You are weak, Gwarod, not because you are human, but because you are nothing and you know nothing. You have corrupted your true nature and you have corrupted those who follow you. Tell me now, who will you scream to while I take my revenge? Are there any left who could hold you dear, even in the realms beyond? I think not."

Gwarod was shaking, clinging to any hope he had. "Please…"

Legolas dropped to the man's level, pulled Gwarod's head back by his hair, and held the knife against his throat. "_Please_?!" Legolas hissed in Gwarod's ear. "Please?! Did you ever stop when my people said the same? When they begged you, when _I_ begged you to stop your tortures? NO! You have ruined them and you have ruined me! Why should I stop, why shouldn't I ruin you as well?!" Now the tip of the knife aimed for Gwarod's right eye.

Wild laughter fell from the man's lips, driving him past the point of despair and into madness. "Go ahead, elf! Have my blood, and prove my claims! You are no better than a man like me!"

Legolas stiffened. "What?"

"Did I destroy that perfect hearing of yours? I said you are no better than me – in fact, you are worse! You prove all I have said about elf-kind, for you are indeed a violent, wicked creature, and I am only one of many victims! How many have you killed, eh, elf? How many have you forced to suffer?"

"Nay, I have never…"

"I have heard of you: _Legolas_, _prince of Ithilien_, _one of the nine_. They said you killed hundreds single-handedly during the war – and not all of those were mindless orcs! There is blood on your hands, elf," Gwarod laughed.

"That is different! This is madness, you are a monster! The things I have…the things _you _have done…!" Even as he spoke Legolas was pulling back, his knife wavering.

"_You _are the monster here, elf! You are an abomination; your race is ending, and you remain beyond the time allotted! Elves are evil, and now that evil is gone the elves depart! _Monsters, blood-thieves, killers!_" Gwarod shouted. "What are you waiting for? It is just like an elf to bleed a human dry and watch them suffer!"

"NO!" Legolas threw his knife across the cavern. The metal rang where it hit the wall, stunning all to silence.

Slowly, Legolas got to his feet and walked around Gwarod, heading to retrieve the knife. He paused in front of the man and turned his head back. "I am _nothing_ like you believe, and I am _nothing_ like you. Keep your life and keep your blood; no elf wants to take such things from an unarmed, ignorant, fool of a creature. I will have real justice of you when the council and king pass their ruling."

He turned away again and continued toward the far wall. Behind him, sly, mad Gwarod pulled Legolas' knife from his arm and, with a great cry, threw the weapon at the elf's back.

"_Legolas!"_


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

Wow, has it really been more than a month since I updated? Heh, sorry guys! I put myself at your mercy, and say once again that I absolutely adore reviews! Thanks for all your comments!

Now I have good news and I have bad-ish news. Good: New, exciting (hopefully) chapter! Fans of Faramir should enjoy this one. Bad-ish (at least for my writing/your reading): In 2 weeks I am going to study abroad in NEW ZEALAND! I am super, extra excited about it, BUT since I'll be gone for a month it is likely that I will get very, very little done on this story. Which is why I decided to post what I have now, along with (insert shameless self-advertisement here) a short piece that I've been saving, "By the Skin of His Teeth." I might get up a mini-chapter between now and New Year's, but I don't know if I want to post something incomplete.

**In sum**: Muse10 will be in NZ for all of January, and will probably not be updating for a while. Sorry!

* * *

Eomer was awakened by a call from one of his captains. It was still dark out, although the stars were dwindling as a pale line of light began to form in the east. He felt like he had only gotten to sleep moments ago, and found himself slightly embarrassed – he had curled around a folded spare blanket sometime during the night, thinking it to be his wife. He pushed the blankets away and sighed as he began to get ready for the day ahead.

He and his small company had been riding like mad since he received news of the death of his sister's husband. He had received the letter during breakfast several days ago and nearly choked, then gave orders to make the king's guard ready to leave. Lothíriel had been frightened by the sudden whim, but once she saw the letter she bade him go to Eowyn with all speed; she was a capable woman and could handle the affairs of Rohan while he went to comfort his sister. Eomer worried for her still; Lothíriel was pregnant with their third child, and though she was still early in her months he could not help but feel he was abandoning her. He had made Elfwine, his oldest and so far only son, promise to take care of Lothíriel, Théodwyn (Eomer's six-year-old daughter), and the baby. He would have eagerly taken his family with him. Lothíriel was Faramir's cousin, and the whole family had loved him well, but Eomer wanted to reach Ithilien as quickly as possible. As much as he worried for his wife, he worried for Eowyn even more. Faramir had brought her back from the brink of darkness and Eomer wondered if she would slip again, now that he was gone.

Eomer sighed. He, too, grieved for Faramir. The steward was a good man. Eomer was proud to have called the him both friend and brother. They rarely had time to speak about something other than politics, but the years had drawn them together often enough for the title of friendship to apply.

He reminded himself that the fair elf prince, Legolas, had been killed as well. The elf was a war-brother, and Eomer had never lost his memory of the aid he brought to Rohan during that terrible night at Helm's Deep. What kind of force would it take to bring down not only Legolas, but many of his elven companions as well?

Eomer shook his head. He would have plenty of time to dwell on such thoughts while they rode. For now he had to prepare to set out. He had ordered the sentries to wake all of them just before dawn; he could not wait to reach Ithilien, and he wished to send word back to Edoras once he arrived. He hoped to convince Eowyn to return to Edoras with her children for a time, so that he could keep an eye on her. Their children were close enough in age to, perhaps, raise one another's spirits, and he hoped that Eowyn and Lothíriel would spend some time together. Then Eowyn would be there for the birth of her nephew or niece, as she had promised to be, and…

He was losing himself again. He was a king now, and that meant he was no longer free to wander physically or mentally. Eomer had to be the leader, even now when his heart ached. He packed away his bedroll, ate a meager breakfast, readied his horse, and ordered the company to set out once more. If they continued like this, they might make it to Ithilien in a day or two.

More than a week's ride behind them, another king's company emerged from the forest of Eryn Lasgalen and began to follow the river Anduin, making for Rohan and the easiest crossing to Gondor.

**XXX**

The going was slow for Faramir's group. They feared an ambush, though it was difficult to hide themselves with Arod's white coat and the slight glow of Orophin's body. The elf had lost his crutches much earlier in the evening, and so he walked with a slight limp now that his body was tiring. The muscles in his leg had yet to fully heal, and they would not support all of his weight for long. Faramir was also still recovering from his captivity and long sleep, and he found himself leaning on Arod. He pretended it was to give comfort to his children, and though they threw him concerned looks no one dared to question him.

Firiel kept Elboron and Faelwen occupied by telling them to look for Legolas' arrows in the trees and point when they found one. The children were surprisingly good at differentiating between arrow shafts and branches, so the group took its general direction from them.

Orophin stopped suddenly and held up his hand. His ears twitched and after listening for a moment most of the others could hear it too: there was a rustling up ahead, and then a brief whimper. "Someone is hurt; I believe it may be our missing prince. I hear other voices nearby, though they are muffled. We may be headed for a trap, but we cannot leave the prince to suffer."

"I agree," said Kirin. "Perhaps the ladies and the children could hide themselves with Arod, and we three could continue onward. It will be just as uncle talked of the three hunters! An elf, a man, and a dwarf off to rescue our companions."

Faramir smiled, "It will be indeed. What say you, my ladies?"

"I am too old for running; it would indeed be best for me to hide," said Firiel.

"I will stay with Firiel and the children, since we need someone with and able body – no offense meant, good Lady Firiel," said Rían.

Firiel shook her head. "Not at all, Rían; you speak the truth."

Orophin pulled a long knife from his boot and handed it to the Rían. "Here you are, noble lady; I pray you have no need of it, but use it well if you should. I wish I could offer you more protection."

The lady took the knife gratefully. "I thank thee all the same, Master Elf."

"I have a knife too!" Elboron announced. He and Faelwen had been fairly quiet throughout the evening, but the change in pace was making them squirm.

"So you do," said Faramir, allowing Rían to help him left the children off of the horse. "Then you can help protect everyone. But you must not use it until Lady Rían says you may, understand? You must remain hidden until they say it is alright to come out."

Elboron frowned, "But does that mean you're leaving us again? Can't I go with you?"

Faramir ruffled the boy's hair. "Not this time. There is one more thing I must take care of, and then I promise I will stay with you always – even when you are grown and wish I would not! Please, stay here and take care of your sister. She's frightened, and she needs you to be a good big brother."

"I can do that," Elboron replied. He took Faelwen's hand and squeezed it. "Fae and I will stick together, and it'll be ok. Right Fae?"

"Mm-hmm," was Faelwen's teary response. Faramir kissed her forehead, then sent both into the thicket with Rían and Firiel.

"If it is a trap, I will take Arod and try to lead them away. They might be more inclined to go after an elf, so long as you keep your hood up so they do not recognize you," said Orophin, resting one hand on the horse's neck.

Faramir pulled up his hood and nodded, "Quickly now; we have wasted too much time already."

With careful steps the three hunters (and Arod) followed the last of the arrows until they could see Legolas' bow stabbed into the ground next to a flattened bush. Kneeling in front of the bush was Prince Eldarion, his back to them.

"Eldarion!" Faramir whispered, trying to get the boy's attention without attracting anyone else. "Eldarion!"

The prince looked around wildly. There was a gruff voice from somewhere in front of him, "What is it?"

Eldarion leaned toward the ground, "I thought I heard someone calling me."

"Be careful, lad, they could be enemies."

"That's Uncle Gimli!" Kirin leapt out from behind a tree. "Uncle!"

Eldarion looked afraid when he saw the strange dwarf, but Orophin and Faramir appeared behind him with Arod and the prince smiled with relief. "Thank the Valar!"

"We could say the same," said Orophin, "it is good to see you safe, ernil-eth." (little/young prince)

"Who's out there? Kirin?" called the voice.

Eldarion moved aside, clutching his right arm to his chest, so that the others could see the entrance to the cave. Just below the entrance stood Gimli, holding a limp Arwen and preparing to pass her up through the entrance. Faramir took Eldarion's place. "Kirin is here, Gimli, along with myself, Orophin, and Arod. We left two ladies and my children in the woods for safety, but now I see there is no ambush. How fares the queen?"

"She lives," Gimli replied, "but I am no healer. She has taken a heavy blow to the head, and it will do her well to leave this place."

Kirin knelt beside Faramir, slightly nudging the steward aside. "Pass her up to me, uncle; I am uninjured, so my arms will best hold her."

Orophin touched the prince's good shoulder. "I will look after you. Come and sit, and let me have a look at your arm. I am not a healer either, but I can judge the damage and I know some ways to ease your pain." Eldarion followed Orophin to a smooth space of ground.

With a little aid from Faramir, the two dwarves gently eased Arwen out of the cave. Faramir ran his hands lightly over her, checking for any other injuries, and tried to clear away the blood on the side of her head. To his relief, there was not a lot of it and though she had a sizeable lump the bone appeared intact. "I believe it is only a concussion; I will not know more until she wakes." He looked around the area, his eyes finally landing on Gimli, and frowned. "Where is Legolas?"

"He is still in the cavern," said the dwarf, gesturing to the opening. "The other men who captured the queen and the prince are dead, but Legolas wished to claim vengeance on Gwarod. It is not a pretty thing to witness; can't you hear them?"

Indeed, once they paid attention the sound of metal sliding against metal was clear, along with a furry of insults that were passed back and forth.

"How long have they been fighting like that?" asked Orophin, barely looking away from his gentle inspection of Eldarion's arm.

"For some minutes now. I will not give you details, I will only say that I have never witnessed such a terror. Not in an elf, anyway, and especially not in Legolas ," said Gimli.

Orophin nodded. "You were right not to interfere."

"Yet I feel it is my right to claim some vengeance as well, and I fear what the people of Gondor will think of this incident," said Faramir. "I think…"

Faramir was cut off by a blood-curdling scream that echoed off of the walls within the cavern and filtered out to them. Faramir, Gimli, and Kirin made for the entrance, but Orophin's call stopped them. "Nay, 'twas the man who screamed. Let it be for a moment, or you will get yourselves killed by mistake."

Arod snorted and pawed the ground nervously, watching the entrance along with the others. The voices were muffled now, until: _"_Please?! _Please?! Did you ever stop when my people said the same? When they begged you, when I begged you to stop your tortures? NO! You have ruined them and you have ruined me! Why should I stop, why shouldn't I ruin you as well?!"_

Orophin's voice was oddly mixed with the crazed laughter echoing from the cavern. He never once looked away from the young prince. "Faramir, if you wish to claim revenge that is your right, for a great harm was done to you and your family. It may, however, be too late to call our friend back to himself enough for him to recognize that right as well."

Faramir nodded once. "I understand, but I will do what I can." He slid into the cavern, hitting the floor with a dull thud that went unnoticed by Legolas and Gwarod. Gwarod was on his knees with one hand pinned to the ground by Legolas' knife, and Legolas knelt behind him. To Faramir's surprise, it was Legolas who looked afraid; the elf was shaking his head and backing away.

Gwarod grinned wickedly. "Elves are evil, and now that evil is gone the elves depart! _Monsters, blood-thieves, killers!_ What are you waiting for? It is just like an elf to bleed a human dry and watch them suffer!"

"NO!" Legolas threw his knife across the cavern. Faramir didn't dare to move; the tension seemed to have solidified the air around them. He watched Legolas get to his feet and pause in front of the man. The elf's words were quiet, but Faramir heard them clearly. He should have felt relieved now that the fighting was done, now that Legolas had turned his back on the man who had caused them both such grief, but the tension in the room was still strung high. He glanced at Gwarod and noticed the man reach for the knife in his hand. The man grinned as he pulled Legolas' knife from his flesh and, with a great cry, threw the weapon at the elf's back.

Finally, Faramir forced himself to action. _"Legolas!"_ He had no time to see if the elf reacted, since Gwarod's attention turned to him. Gwarod grabbed a sword from the ground and tried to stand. Faramir was faster. He pulled his sword from his belt and rushed forward. With a wide sweep of the blade, Faramir cleanly sliced through Gwarod's neck. His head fell to the floor with a thud, followed by his body.

"I am no elf, Gwarod, and I will gladly take your traitor's blood. I know of no righteous creature who would strike at an opponent's back after they spared your miserable life," Faramir spat. Gwarod's empty eyes gleamed madly back at him, his face locked forever in half a grimace and half a smirk. Faramir took a deep breath to keep himself from vomiting, and turned to look for Legolas.

To Faramir's relief, Legolas walked over with both knives in his hands, and no apparent mortal wound. Legolas looked down at what remained Gwarod, not noticing or caring about the blood that soaked into his boots. After a moment he looked up and put his hand on Faramir's shoulder. "That," he grinned, "was the quality of a captain and a prince. You saved my life, and I thank you."

"You are quite welcome," Faramir grinned back. "It is over, my friend. He can haunt us no more."

**XXX**

With a roar, Aragorn thrust his sword into the enemy in front of him and wrenched it back as the man fell. Breathing hard, the king searched around him for another foe, and was surprised to find there were not many left. His soldiers had begun to attend to their injured, and Aragorn could not help but smirk when he saw the remainder of their enemies surrender as soon as Eowyn raised her sword against them. Her dress was spattered with blood. A bit of it ran down a shallow cut on the side of her face, but otherwise she appeared unharmed.

A little to the left, Rúmil shot down two men who tried to run into the woods, striking them in the legs. With a barely perceptible smile, the elf lowered his bow and searched for any other stragglers. Aragorn noted that the elf held one arm stiffly, with bright blood spreading down the sleeve of his tunic. Likely he had some cut that needed stitching, but when Aragorn caught Rúmil's eye the elf shook his head and pointed at Aragorn's feet, where Elrohir lay near-unconscious.

Satisfied that, for the moment, he could give Elrohir his full attention, Aragorn knelt by his foster brother and took stock of his injuries. "What have you gotten into this time, Ro?" he muttered,

Elrohir opened his eyes halfway and grinned, "If you must know, Estel, I was shot out of a tree."

Aragorn shook his head. "I can see that much, thank you. Now be quiet, and tell me where it hurts the most. I need to know if I can remove the arrows."

"Be quiet _and_ tell you what hurts? Estel, my head is already spinning, do not make me strive for the impossible."

Aragorn rolled his eyes and continued to search for breaks and scrapes that needed immediate tending. Elrohir couldn't help a few groans, so Aragorn started humming quietly. Before he could do very much, a familiar voice shouted across the clearing. "Elrohir!"

The king's head shot up, and Elrohir struggled to sit. "Elladan?" he whispered.

Indeed, the older twin was running headlong to them, one hand clutching a bow and the other his sword. In seconds he skidded to a halt and fell ungracefully to his knees. He forced Aragorn back, and both sword and bow were abandoned as the brothers embraced. "Valar, Ro, I thought I'd lost you."

"Me?!" Elrohir pressed his good arm against his brother's back. "Dan, they told me you were dead! I heard you cry out, and then when you didn't say anything…I thought you were gone from me."

"I'm sorry, but I had to let them think I was dead, or I wouldn't have been able to do anything for you. The arrow hit my vest; I'm fine. I was so scared for you, though, and I am so sorry I couldn't protect you."

Elrohir cuffed Elladan on the back of his head before pushing him away. "Don't you ever, _ever_ do that to me again, or I will shove my longbow up your –"

Aragorn cleared his throat. "If you don't mind, Ro, there is a lady present, and I need to finish looking over your wounds."

A laughing Eowyn came up to them, smoothing a bloodied curl behind her ear. "Don't stop them on my account. When we were teenagers I told Eomer I was going to cut off his testicles and mount them over our uncle's throne in front of the entire court. This was, of course, preceded by some Rohiric swears that do not translate well into common. Suffice to say that they involve the genitalia of a horse."

The twins blinked at her, then broke into wide grins. "We have clearly not spent enough time in your company, dear lady," said Elladan.

Aragorn sighed, but was secretly pleased for the distraction. Elrohir had to be in a great deal of pain, and he had no herbs to offer him for it. But before he could continue, Eowyn gripped his hand. "My lord, allow me to look after him, if you will. I daresay there is another who could use your aid, and…and I do not want to attend anymore funerals."

He squeezed his eyes shut. _Arwen_. _Eldarion_. How could he have forgotten? Still, he cast a worried gaze at the arrows still sticking out from Elrohir's shoulder and leg. Elladan rolled his eyes, "Estel, I have stitched you up more times than I can count. I do believe I am capable of healing my own brother."

Aragorn smiled. "You win, Dan. But Eowyn, I must insist that you return to the camp with some of the other soldiers and search for your children. You could send healers back this way, as well, and let them know that I am alive."

Eowyn looked to the twins. "You are sure you have no need of me?"

"Oh, we've gotten ourselves out of far worse straights. There are soldiers here who will run to do our bidding, and if all else fails Dan can carry me someplace safe," said Elrohir.

"_Carry_ you? Brother, you have been attending far too many feasts in recent months. There is no way I can…"

Aragorn and Eowyn smiled at each other as both left the twins to their bickering. "They'll be fine."

Aragorn shook his head. "So long as they don't do anything stupid." He called to his uninjured guards, who were difficult to convince to leave the king's side even to escort Eowyn in search of her children.

Rúmil ended the argument with a few quiet words. "Never forget that you are king, Elessar; you cannot go wandering on your own." Before Aragorn could protest, Rúmil added, "My brother has gone to find the others, and I, too, wish to protect what is left of my family. Surely if I swear to protect the king, someone can be spared for the lady?" Aragorn eyed the bleeding shoulder critically. It had been quickly bandaged and needed better care, but who was he to hold the brothers apart?

"Does that satisfy you?" Aragorn growled.

The soldiers reluctantly agreed. Eowyn parted their company with one of the guards, heading back for the camp without another look to her king. Aragorn nodded to those who remained, leaving the injured behind to care for one another, and let Rúmil lead their path through the trees.

**XXX**

Orophin, Kirin, and Gimli shared a worried look. Moments ago there had been a great bout of noise, and then nothing. Nothing discernable, anyway; the voices were quiet, almost as if one was speaking comfort to a dying creature. Gimli's heart tightened. It would be too much to lose the elf so soon after getting him back. He couldn't take the waiting.

"What's happened down there? Are you alright?" Gimli called down the entrance of the cave.

A face appeared below him, and Gimli barely suppressed a sigh of relief. Legolas' braids were unkempt and his face was pale, but he smiled without pain. "We're alright, Gimli, but Gwarod seems to have lost his head completely this time."

Gimli reached one leather-covered arm down to them. "Well come on up, laddie, and let us have a look at you both. The last time I left you alone you died!"

Legolas gave a slightly strained laugh and accepted Gimli's hand. Once the elf climbed out of the entrance, Gimli reached back down and helped Faramir out as well. The two were covered with blood and dust, looking more like ghosts than living men, but they were able to walk unaided.

"Is Gwarod…is he…I mean, did you kill him?" asked Eldarion, his arm splinted as best as Orophin could with the healing knowledge of a warrior.

After a tense silence, for neither Faramir or Legolas were ready to share all that had happened below, Faramir nodded. "He is dead, and you can be sure he shall never harm another again."

Kirin grinned, "The victorious dead indeed! I shall retrieve the ladies and children now that the danger has passed." With that he returned to the woods.

A delighted whiny filled the clearing, and Arod raced to Legolas, gently rubbing against him with his nose. Legolas smiled and patted the horse's neck. "I am well enough, my friend. Though you are covered in soot and in need of a bath."

"Daddy!"

Faramir looked up and ran to meet Faelwen, who opened her armsabove her head in a mute demand to be picked up. She was too young to make much note of the blood covering his clothes.

Faramir knelt and hugged her close, along with Elboron, before pulling away. "Daddy can't lift you right now, sweet one, he's very tired."

"Master Kirin says we're safe now. Did you get the bad guy?" asked Elboron.

Faramir smiled, shooting Kirin a look of gratitude over his children's shoulders. "Yes, we got him, and I promise he will never hurt you again."

Lady Rían knelt by Arwen, opposite of Orophin and Eldarion who had gone to check on her. "Is she…" she whispered.

"The queen lives," said Orophin.

"Praise the Valar for that," said Firiel, who had also drawn closer.

Gimli grunted in agreement. "We owe them much, of that I am sure. Of course, these silly elves should know better than to attempt to stay out of trouble without a dwarf around. Flighty creatures, I say, making you think they're dead and…well, I shall never forgive you that one, laddie. It near sent me to the grave."

Orophin laughed. "For that you should blame King Elessar. He is the one who sent the letter and did not tell us how they had died, or else we would have known sooner."

Legolas frowned, "Where is Aragorn, anyway?"

"That is right! Last I saw him he was supposed to be looking for these two," said Gimli, gesturing to the queen and her son.

"Father came after us?" asked Eldarion, getting to his feet. "Then why…why isn't he here?" His voice wavered slightly, tinged with fear and a little suspicion. At fourteen, he was still partially under the illusion that his father was invincible, and should have been at Eldarion's side the moment the prince needed him.

The adults shared a dark look. Gimli broke the silence with a loud clap of his hands. "Flighty as an elf, that king of yours is! I suppose we had better go find him, and when we do I am going to give him a stern talking to. Not only does he try to bury you two alive, leaving me to fix that mess, but here I am finishing off his rescue mission as well! No doubt he got distracted by some near-impossible battle, and now is in need of rescuing himself!"

"Uncle, I thought you had retired from the rescuing business," said Kirin.

Gimli spluttered a moment, pointing to Legolas. "With friends like _this _one? I'll never retire!"

Orophin left Arwen in the care of the two women and went over to where Legolas, Eldarion, and the dwarves stood by the entrance of the cave. "I have seen the king, as I told Faramir, along with Lady Eowyn and Lords Elladan and Elrohir. There is much to tell of that, but I believe we will have answers soon enough. I hear people coming this way."

When they quieted, the sound of cracking leaves was clear enough to the whole company. Legolas frowned, "You are correct. How could I not have heard them before now?" He raised a hand to his ruined left ear, but Gimli caught it.

"Of course you can't hear right now; you're exhausted, and I've no doubt your ears are full of blood! Clogged and congealed, if you ask me!"

"Uncle…" Kirin looked uncertainly toward Faramir's children, who looked rather disturbed by the dwarf lord's speech.

With a shake of his head, Orophin pursed his lips and whistled. An answering whistle sounded, at a slightly different pitch, and Orophin's face lit up with delight. "It's Rúmil! Rúmil! Over here!"

"Have you found them?" Rúmil's voice came to them through the trees.

"Yes, and they're alive!"

"Alive?!" That was Aragorn, and the pounding rhythm of feet against brush became faster. "Arwen! Eldarion!"

"Father!" Eldarion called, rushing toward the voice.

A moment later Aragorn emerged from the trees, closely followed by several soldiers and Rúmil. Eldarion raced into his father's arms, and the two hugged one another tightly for several minutes. Rúmil embraced his brother as well, before taking in the gathered company. "I see you have collected a few strays, brother."

"As have you," Orophin replied, gesturing to the men. "How went the battle?"

"It is over, and we have a few prisoners. The worst of the injuries went to Lord Elrohir, I believe, but Lord Elladan is tending to him."

Faramir put his hand on Rúmil's shoulder, desperate for news of his wife. "Master elf, I beg you to give me news of my wife. How faired Eowyn?"

The elf turned, and smiled gently at the two children holding onto Faramir's legs. "She is very well, of that I can assure you. Her greatest ill is worry for her family, but the sight of you three is the only remedy for that. She returned to the camp to look for the little ones, and I believe that is where we should head as well."

"Rúmil! You _have_ been hurt!" Orophin exclaimed, grabbing a hold of his brother's arm. Rúmil gave a very un-elvish roll of his eyes for the children's benefit, and swatted at his brother's hands. Faelwen giggled a little, and Rúmil decided the pain of the injury was worth it. The girl was tiny and young yet, but if she turned out anything like her valiant mother he would spend the rest of his days in Ithilien making sure the child grew up happily.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

Hello all, I'm ba-ack! NZ was absolutely wonderful, and now...well, it was summer for a month and there's still snow on the ground from 2 weeks ago. Sadly, I'm still looking at a busy semester, so updates will go back to their usual slow (but not quite so ridiculous) schedule. There isn't much to this chapter after the craziness of the last one, but don't get too comfortable. The danger may have passed, but there's still a lot to clean up.

* * *

Dawn.

Thranduil watched the sun creep over the edge of the trees. The trees were far now, a green border on the left horizon. While the woodelves were usually content to travel within their forest for as long as possible, he had decided to take the road that hugged the river, where they would be able to push the horses faster outside of the trees. To their right, therefore, lay the Anduin, glistening as the light began to catch its current. Horse and elf alike of his small company were gathered by this river's edge to drink and cool their faces. They were glad for the rest, for the king had set a relentless pace toward Ithilien.

But Thranduil could find no refreshment in the fresh water, nor warmth in the light of the rising sun upon his face. He felt utterly cold, despairing. Even if they managed to keep their pace, even if their horses could match the stamina of the elves who rode them, they would not reach Ithilien for another week. By then the earth would already have begun to take back the body of his son, and Legolas' soul would have been sent away without any close family to sing for him. Even now, depending on the time Aragorn's letter was written, Legolas could be making his final journey to the halls.

If that were true, Thranduil should have felt some measure of peace. The dawn symbolized an end to the dark, dangerous journey of the soul along the road to Mandos' Halls. With the rise of the sun, Mandos passed judgement and the righteous were allowed to wander in peace, until their souls were ready for rebirth. The dawn should have reminded him that such a rebirth was possible, for Legolas had held the purist of hearts in his breast, just as his mother had.

Still, Thranduil felt no joy; only emptiness. It would be centuries before he met his family again, and that was if Thranduil himself did not fade away. He had not even had the chance to say goodbye.

"_Like the setting of the sun_

_Let your life fade from this world_

_To grow strong and rise again_

_In the dawning of the kingdom come_."

The king blinked at Galion's voice, but he could not quite turn from the east. "Despair not, my friend. Dawn has come, and it is beautiful. Your son has found peace; surely he is much-loved by the Valar for all he did in the War of the Ring. Mandos will keep him well."

"He is _my son_¸ Galion, the very last of my family. _I_ loved him, and I have lost him. There is nothing left for me but despair." Thranduil did not give his friend a chance to answer, but turned to collect his horse. "Mount your horses; we ride on!"

**XXX**

Eowyn paid little attention to the sun rising over the trees. To her, it only made them look as if they were still on fire. She paused at the edge of the camp, and heard Borondir, the guard who had been sent with her, gasp. Much of the camp had been destroyed, and small fires continued to burn through some of the tents. These were being attended to by harrowed-looking men and women who bore buckets from a nearby stream. Others milled about, searching for the injured or dead and carrying them to a large but ugly tent that had been erected away from the original camp.

As they walked closer, they could see places where blood had turned the dirt to mud, or fire had blackened the ground. They picked their way through the debris, always keeping a sharp eye, until they came close enough to a very young soldier who appeared to be running errands. "You there!" called Borondir, intercepting him with one large hand. "The Lady Steward is looking for her children. Have they been seen?"

"Not that I know of, begging your pardon lady, but I can take you to the tent they have set up for the injured. They would have brought the children there, no matter what their state," the youth replied with a bow.

"I would much appreciate that," said Eowyn. The words were gentle but her voice hardened by worry, and the youth immediately made for the largest tent.

When they neared, Eowyn could see that it was ugly merely because it had been constructed from the ruined pieces of many smaller tents; there were too many injured now for the original healers' tent to hold. A few looked up when they entered, but most were preoccupied with various tasks. Eowyn scanned the room, but could find neither her children nor their nurse.

"Lady Eowyn!" a soldier came running up to them. "My lady, there is something…"

"Where are my children?"

"I do not know, my lady, but you must…"

Eowyn ignored him and glared at the youth who had brought them. "You said they'd be here! Where are they?"

"I'm sorry, I said they _might_ be. I will go and ask after them…"

"They cannot be dead!"

"My lady, please!" the new soldier cried. "I have heard something strange, and though I do not know where your children are there are some who claim to have seen them, alive!"

"What?" Eowyn exclaimed. "Who?!"

"Some prisoners," the soldier explained. "There were three of them, but two are badly injured and could tell us nothing of use. The last is called Draug. He told us that he and several others were sent to…to destroy your children."

"No!"

Borondir gently wrapped his big hands about her shoulders. "Peace, my lady. Let him finish, for I am sure there is more to this."

The soldier nodded in response to Borondir's expectant glare and continued. "Lady Wilwarin was killed quickly, and then the soldier who meant to protect them. But Lady Firiel and Lady Rían were with them as well, and as our enemies laughed these noble women prepared to protect the young ones with their lives. Here is where it becomes strange, for Draug claims that out of the fires behind them appeared two figures, a man and a dwarf. Draug believed them to be vengeful spirits, for he swears the man called himself Lord Faramir!"

"Impossible," Eowyn whispered.

"These spirits defeated our enemies, and only Draug remained uninjured because he refused to shoot a child. But another tried to, and Lady Rían took the arrow to her breast before it could reach your son. But another miracle, for when the ghost of Lord Faramir leaned over her she was healed! He conjured a white horse from the smoke and placed the children on it. Then they left Draug to carry away the bodies and care for his companions. I do not know how this can be true, but we have found the soldier and Lady Wilwarin dead."

Borondir bowed his head in respect, but Eowyn was too shocked to feel sorrow yet for the death of Wilwarin, a kindly governess from Gondor who Eowyn had grown close to during the years Wilwarin had served the steward's family. "Impossible," she muttered again. "It can't…I left him before the funeral even began! He was…he is dead! Only cursed men have souls that stay behind."

"Lord Faramir was the best of men, my lady, I am sure such was not his fate," said Borondir. "The prisoner might be lying, or he might be mad. Whichever, there is no proof that harm has befallen your children. Rather, hope that one of the soldier's saved them, claiming your husband's name so that our enemies would be afraid!"

"But a dwarf?" Eowyn shook her head. "There are no dwarves here. Even if Lord Gimli had managed to travel so swiftly, he would not have left Legolas, or at the least he would be with the king. Elessar would not need my husband's name to drive them off in fear, nor would any of the nine walkers."

"If I may, my lady," offered the soldier, "the tent in which Lord Faramir was lain still stands. It might ease your mind, if not your heart, to see if he is still there. The outside has not been touched, although none have found time to enter. I am sure our enemies would have destroyed it if they knew he lay within."

"Borondir?"

"Lady Steward, wherever you will to go I shall follow and protect you, at least until I am able to return to the service of my king." With instructions to inform the lady immediately if there was word of her children, the other soldier was dismissed. Eowyn and Borondir made their way back outside, winding through a section of the camp that appeared unscathed. At the end of these sat a lonely white tent, the wind playing with the flaps of the entrance.

The last time Eowyn had been here, the sun had just begun its descent. She had been standing in this same dress of black and gold, although now it looked as though she had left her clothes in the stables for a week. She had been sitting by Faramir's bed, stroking his hair but not looking at him. No, she had been watching a group of solemn looking elves move Legolas' body to a richly decorated pallet and carry him outside. She had kissed Faramir once, then followed the royal family of Gondor to the fresh burial grounds.

Eowyn frowned; surely she had tied the flaps of the tent shut when she left? But perhaps not. They had all been very distracted. "Let me enter first, to be sure there are no enemies hiding here," said Borondir. "I will light the candles, too, if you wish."

"No candles; I only want a quick look, and then I want to talk to that prisoner. _I_ will make him tell the truth, one way or another."

Borondir made no comment, but entered the tent cautiously, leaving the flaps open enough for the dawn to illuminate what might be within. Eowyn took a breath to steal herself; she would never grow accustomed to the sight of her dead husband, and she hoped it would be easier when there would be naught but a mound and a stone to mark where he lay.

Suddenly, Borondir's voice rang out from somewhere within the tent. "Lady Eowyn, come quickly!"

Eowyn ran inside to find Borondir lighting the candles. She opened her mouth to protest, but he gestured to the bed where Faramir should have been. It was empty. Eowyn spun around, but the light from the candles proved that they were quite alone. The sheets on Faramir's bed were disturbed, as if someone had sat on them, and his weapons were gone. An inspection of the other side of the room showed that Legolas' weapons were gone as well. Eowyn turned to Borondir, her face very white.

"Where is he?"

"My…my lady?"

"Where is my husband?!" she screamed. "Where are my children?! What have they done?" She sat heavily on the empty cot and put her head in her hands. "What have they done?"

The bed shifted as Borondir sat heavily upon it, then hesitantly put his arm around her. "I do not know, but I promise we will find out. Do you…are you alright? Should we sit here a moment?"

Eowyn glared at him. "No. Take me to the prisoners; I want to talk to the man called Draug."

**XXX**

Soft light filtered through the branches of the trees, illuminating a curious scene in the middle of the woods which spotted Ithilien. Elves, men, and dwarves were gathered among the trees, heartily greeting one another as family by blood or by choice. Before the War of the Ring, no one would have believed it.

Aragorn released his son when the prince let out a brief yelp. "You are hurt?" he frowned.

Eldarion pointed with his good arm to the right one, held tightly against his body and covered by Orophin's splint. "Orophin says my arm is broken. He fixed it a little, but we didn't have any supplies."

Aragorn gently brushed his fingers across the splint. "Orophin has done well enough; we will see to that as soon as we get back to camp. Is there anything else?"

"No, but nana is hurt terribly, and she won't wake up!" the prince exclaimed, gesturing over his shoulder.

Aragorn immediately went over to his wife, but he kept one hand on Eldarion's good arm in order to keep the boy close; he was not about to lose his son again. He found Arwen lying on the grass, with Rían and Firiel watching over her. Aragorn knelt on her opposite side, trying to remain stoic as he looked at the gash on Arwen's head. He felt the pulse at her neck and was relieved to find it steady. "What happened?" he asked, without looking up.

"One of the men hit her with the hilt of his sword," said Eldarion. "She hasn't stirred since, and that was over an hour ago!"

Aragorn could hear the worry in his son's voice, and tried not to show it on his own face. He patted Eldarion's shoulder, then released it to inspect Arwen's head. The blood had already clotted, but that made it difficult to see the extent of the damage. Still, he felt around the wound. Though it was tender, her skull was intact and there did not appear to be any very serious damage. He kissed her brow softly. "Wake up, melleth, the battle is over and we have won. Lasto beth nin, listen and return to me."

The queen showed no signs of waking, however, beyond a faint twitch of her mouth and fingertips. Aragorn sighed. "Best to let her sleep; her elven blood will heal her swiftly if she is allowed to rest." He looked to the other women and noticed the blood on Rían's dress. "Are you hurt?"

"Nay my king," she replied, "no more than a scratch."

Aragorn nodded, "Let the healers see to it when we return, then."

"Now that ye've seen to your family, lad, I've got a bone to pick with you," said a voice to Aragorn's right.

The king turned with a wry smile, coming face to face with a very angry looking dwarf. "And what would that be about, my friend?"

Gimli poked Aragorn in the chest with the bottom of his ax, much to the horror of the royal guards. "You. You brought me out here with that confounded letter of yours, and look what I've gotten into! I came out here expecting a dead elf, and not only was said elf alive, but in need of rescuing! And you, you're off trying to be the hero while I have to do all the work! You…you…oh for Aule's sake, why do I bother?" The ax was replaced with an armful of dwarf that Aragorn gladly accepted.

"I'm glad you're well, too, Gimli."

Musical laughter floated above them. "Some powerful pair those to make, eh Kirin? A king of men and a dwarf lord, embracing like long lost lovers. It is a good thing the queen is unconscious, or she might be jealous!"

Gimli stepped back quickly, grumbling and blushing. Aragorn stood up, but could find no words with which to respond. Here before him was Legolas, pale as death, covered in blood, and looking as though a strong wind might knock him over. But the elf stood on his own two feet, and he was very much alive. After Aragorn had opened and closed his mouth several times, Legolas smirked, "Le ab-dollen." (You're late)

Aragorn laughed at this and drew his friend into a hearty embrace. "Legolas!"

"Gently!" Legolas gasped when the man put a little too much pressure on an ill-healed body.

Aragorn released him with an apologetic smile, giving Legolas another once-over. The elf really did look in desperate need of a bath and a healer, but Aragorn new better than to tell that to him. Instead, he gripped his shoulder as tightly as he dared. "I cannot express how happy I am to see you alive, mellon-nin. I…it was…"

"I am equally pleased to _be_ alive, Aragorn, and I am sorry for what you must have witnessed in my absence. However, I would have us speak of it when we have time enough and a barrel of wine to cheer us," said Legolas.

"No doubt there are those who search for us, and many others who would like to see you – and Faramir!" Aragorn agreed.

The steward looked up at the sound of his name. "Yes, my lord?"

Smiling, Aragorn made his way over to Faramir and his children. The man looked no better, if not worse, than the elf. His skin held a pale, sickly color, some of his old wounds had been agitated, he had fresh cuts and bruises, and blood covered his clothes. Aragorn seriously hoped none of it actually belonged to Faramir. "Seeing you alive is a blessing; I did not realize how much I had come to rely on you, both as an ally and as a friend. I will not make such a mistake again, Faramir, you have my word."

Faramir inclined his head, "You honor me."

Aragorn turned his attention to the young children who refused to release their hold on the edge of Faramir's cloak, Faelwen going as far as to wrap herself around her father's leg. She drew back, but Elboron recognized the king and stood proud. "You are very brave, young ones, and I see you have inherited the strength and valor of your parents. In you, I see that I am right to have such great hope for the future."

"Th-thank you, King El'sar," Elboron whispered. Faramir smiled proudly.

"You will have to tell me the story of what happened here, sometime," said Aragorn when he straightened. "But for now, I think it would be wise for us to return to camp. My family is in need of healers, as are you and Legolas – I will hear no arguments on that account – and I know that Lady Eowyn is looking for all of you. There is much to be done, and the day has only just begun."

"We follow you, King Elessar," said Orophin. "Only…there are things here that need doing, for the elves do not want evil hearts rotting in our woods."

Aragorn blinked in confusion, but Faramir never missed a beat. "We will send soldiers back to burn this, and to destroy that cave. That cavern was once a hideout for the Ithilien rangers, but it became infested with fell creatures and we had to abandon it. It is a place that seems to attract wicked deeds."

Legolas nodded, "I remember you told me of the place, and I could sense something evil when I came here. The earth here has tasted the blood of many creatures, and so it thirsts for more. We will cleanse this place until it remembers naught but fire. Then we will teach it to be green, and to drink sweet rain."

Eldarion looked a little awed, despite his time around elves. "Can you do that? I mean, really do that, not just plant more trees to make it look different?"

Aragorn gave his son a look, but Legolas smiled. "Yes, we can. That is, if we have the help of a few dwarves who can speak to the earth." He cast a sidelong look at Gimli and Kirin. The younger dwarf beamed, and Gimli scoffed.

"Of course you do, laddie. Though you can't be expecting me to start helping you plant anything, now."

"Why Gimli, I would never think of such a thing." Aragorn was glad to see the spark return to Legolas' eyes, and he decided that he would make sure Gimli stayed around Ithilien a little while longer. As if the dwarf could have been convinced to leave after such a mess!


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

Remember when I said my update times wouldn't be as ridiculous as last time? Yeah...that didn't work due to a mix of writer's block and a lot of academic things catching up to me at the same time. My most sincere apologies! I will make no promises about the next one, but I do _hope_ to update faster! Oh, and I did leave the (approximate) translation out for the elvish at the end of the chapter on purpose. It shouldn't be too difficult to guess or translate, but that part is technically from Eowyn's perspective, and she isn't supposed to know what was said.

* * *

Hathel surveyed the carnage with his upper lip drawn back in disgust. Gwarod had sent a good number of his men to the elven funeral, expecting them to massacre the living elves there with ease. Instead, the men had encountered a group of very angry elves, bearing their own arms or some borrowed from a dead companion. There was no mercy to be found, and their intended burial ground was now saturated with the blood of their enemies.

It was a strange sight; the bloody corpses of men intermingled with the decorated, moon-pale bodies of elves. The ritual had been broken, and even in his long memory Hathel could not recall what was to be done about it. But he was a warrior, and an occasional diplomat in dealings with certain dwarves; spirits were the shamans' domain.

An elleth appeared at his side, pushing a stray piece of her dark hair behind her pointed ear. "It is finished," she said in rapid Silvan.

Hathel nodded. He knew better than to ask if there were any prisoners; he and the others had not been aiming to injure. Both were quiet for a moment, watching the light of dawn slowly illuminate the bloodied graveyard. "We will return to the camp. We need to regroup with the others; find Lord Legolas."

"We cannot leave our dead here with these…these…" she spat a word with no translation.

"What choice do we have?"

The elleth smiled bitterly, "One person is to remain with each of our dead at all times, are they not? We will carry them away from here; we need not bear them on tainted pallets."

"Himiel…"

"Please, Hathel. I carried my son when his life began. I can carry him now that it has ended."

He turned, noting the way her face was drawn and her eyes shimmered like amber water, like the place where the sea hit the sand. Himiel would not remain in Middle Earth now, of that he was sure. She would join her husband across the sea, likely followed by what remained of her kin. Many of these elves would leave, and he wondered if any besides himself would remain to rebuild their home now that it had been so thoroughly desecrated. Surely not those who had survived torture at the hands of men.

Hathel raised his voice, speaking in the Sindarin most understood and then translating it to Silvan for those, like Himiel, who had lived in the woods too long to know anything else. "Leave the men here to be burned. We will carry away the shells of our brethren and return to camp."

**XXX**

An arrow to the leg and one to the shoulder removed. Both wounds bound until the stitching could be done. Bruised and broken ribs wrapped with a cloak. Head wound determined to be no more threatening than a slight concussion. Minor cuts and bruises cleaned, including the line across his throat where the knife had pricked him. Twisted wrist to be wrapped when more linen was available. On the whole, Elrohir considered himself lucky for having been shot out of a tree and nearly murdered. Besides, now that he knew his brother was alive, no wound was too much to bear.

Said brother had just returned to Elrohir's side, having seen to some of the greater wounds among the men. "How do you feel?"

"As well as when you asked me five minutes ago, Elladan. I am in pain, but I will be in a great deal more when it is to my advantage and there are lovely healers or soldiers to fawn over me."

Elladan laughed, "Now I will know to be prepared, and you shan't get any attention from me."

"I wasn't expecting to," Elrohir grinned. "You are not lovely. Everyone knows that, of the two of us, I am better looking."

"Indeed? You have not seen your face lately, then."

Elrohir gave a mock look of horror, then grew serious. "How are our men?"

Elladan shook his head and lowered his voice. "Some are well enough, but others I can do little for. We need to return to the camp, if it still stands, yet I fear to leave so few able men here with prisoners. I think our presence keeps them in check; Rúmil and Orophin seem to have managed to convince them that elven magic allows arrows to rain from the sky…with my help, of course."

"Of course. Where did you send Orophin, anyway? I heard some of your messages, but not enough," asked Elrohir, shifting his weight slightly to ease the pressure on his ribs.

"To look for Arwen and Eldarion. I do not know where, but I believe Aragorn mentioned something about another trail in this part of the woods. I pray they are close by."

Elrohir nodded, "If they are, then Aragorn may bring them back this way. We would have enough men to take the prisoners back to the camp, then, and we could send others back for those who cannot be moved."

"You would number among them," said Elladan, gesturing to his twin's leg, ribs, and shoulder.

"I would not! I can walk, if you help me."

Elladan snorted, "What a threat that would make us, stumbling over one another like drunken fools."

"We are drunken fools often enough, Dan, and we once took out four men before falling over ourselves on the way back to our room."

"Four men who were also inebriated, might I remind you, and then neither of us were injured. It is different."

"That may be, but if you do not take me with you I will crawl back on my own, and that is sure to aggravate my injuries," said Elrohir. He stubbornly crossed one arm.

"I will bind you," Elladan replied, taking a similar stance with two good arms.

"I will get loose."

"I will place a guard on you."

"I will escape their watch."

"I will tie your legs together."

"I will hop."

"I will _break_ your legs."

"You wouldn't dare." Elrohir sent his brother a scathing look, impulsively moving his good arm over his legs.

Elladan reached for a rock and smirked, "Try me."

Before Elladan could carry out any threat, one of the soldiers who had been sent with Aragorn ran back into the clearing, his armor clanging. The twins looked up as he bowed to them. "King Elessar returns! He asks that all who are able to accompany him be ready to return to camp immediately; there is much need for healers."

"He found them then!" Elrohir exclaimed.

Elladan dropped his rock and stood up. "Do they live? What has happened?"

"Something very strange, my lords," the soldier replied. "A miracle, I think! But yes, all are alive, though the queen remains unconscious."

The twins glanced at one another. "A miracle?"

"Aye, a miracle! I would not believe it if I had not seen them, and you will not lest you see for yourself. The king does not travel alone. But with your leave, my lords, I will prepare the men so that you may prepare yourselves." At Elladan's nod, the soldier bowed and moved off to speak to his fellows.

"Not alone? The king is never alone," said Elladan, staring into the trees where he could hear someone coming closer. Someone with a horse, and more feet than when they had left.

"I am sure it is nothing, Dan. Just help me up!" When Elladan looked like he was reaching for the rock again, Elrohir caught his hand and pleaded. "Please, brother, please. I do not wish to be left here, and I would ease Aragorn's worry by greeting him on my own feet."

Elladan relented and leaned down to help his brother. Thus occupied in arranging Elrohir so that there would be as little pressure on his wounds as possible, neither twin saw King Elessar arrive, the queen in his arms and a wounded prince at his side. Just behind them was a white horse carrying two children, with a tired but familiar man on one side and two ladies on the other. A dwarf and an elf kept pace with the man, and two more elves and another dwarf walked by the ladies. Soldiers surrounded them, mainly for the king's safety, but they eased their formation as they entered the clearing.

Walking a bit further into the clearing, one of the elves spotted the twins and chuckled. The king smiled, and the elf winked before walking forward on near-noiseless feet. He came up behind Elladan in time to hear Elrohir curse violently under his breath as he was hoisted upward in vain. The elf laughed again.

"Son of an orc, Rúmil, stop laughing and help me!" Elladan snapped without looking up. "But don't move his other arm, that's the got an arrow wound in it."

Without a word, the elf went around to Elrohir's other side and helped to lean him on Elladan so that all three could rise. Elrohir grinned at his twin. "I told you I could do it with a little help. And you said you would…Elladan?" His smile fell when he noticed that his twin's face was frozen in shock, staring beyond Elrohir at Rúmil.

Elrohir turned his head too quickly, and his vision blurred. Slowly the scene before him became clearer, and Elrohir began to understand that something was not right with their friend. Hadn't he been wearing a dark grey? Rúmil was very little by elven standards – he was never that tall, was he? Perhaps it was the gold of the sun peaking over the trees, but shouldn't his hair be silver? The face – the face was slowly materializing, and finally Elrohir realized what was truly wrong with Rúmil. It was not Rúmil at all.

"Elladan? I think I've hit my head harder then we realized. I see…"

"No, I see him too. But it cannot be!"

"A spirit."

"A delusion."

"Impossible."

"Hmpf! Elven senses say they? Overrated, says I. Look at these great lords, standing with their mouths agape like a pair of gutted fish!" grunted a new voice that would have forced the twins to look down if they had not been frozen.

The elf put a placating hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "Give them a moment, Gimli. They really _do _look like gutted fish, and it is well known that the peredhil have slower wits than woodelf or man. It's the Noldor blood, you know."

"Legolas."

The elf looked up, unsure of which had whispered his name since both twins continued to stare. He smiled. "I am here, mellon nin, and I am no illusion."

"Legolas!" Elrohir stumbled forward, pulling Elladan with him. Legolas caught both with open arms.

For a moment all three stood embracing, unashamed tears falling from their eyes while the twins repeated his name and Legolas promised, "Na maer. Im maer." (It is well. I am well.)

They pulled away enough to see one another's faces. "How is this possible?" asked Elladan. "We were the ones who declared your death!"

"We saw your funeral, though we never saw you buried," Elrohir added. "Could it be the will of the Valar? Were you sent back?"

"Nay, nothing so great as that," Legolas replied. "It is only a little Greenwood magic, but it seems to have worked wonders. Where is Lady Eowyn? She will be glad to see her family is as well as I am."

The twins looked again with wonder to see Faramir with his children on Arod, and two court ladies with them. Orophin, Rúmil, and Kirin were helping the soldiers to guard the prisoners while Aragorn gave orders to his men, Arwen still in his arms and Eldarion at his side. It was clear the king wished to leave the soonest, but he was giving them time.

"Eowyn left for camp an hour ago," Elladan explained, "looking for her children. If they are here, she must be worried. And Faramir…" he turned his attention back to Legolas. "I ask again how this is possible."

"It is a long story, and one I would prefer to tell later. I fear there is much that has happened this night of which we are still unaware; I left many elves back at the funeral sight, and the camp was in chaos," said Legolas. "Elrohir, the children are not hurt; we would have put Arwen on Arod if Aragorn had been willing to relinquish her. As he is not, you should ride."

For once, Elrohir acquiesced without trouble. They made their way to the group, and the children were not unhappy for the chance to stretch their legs. After a brief but happy reunion, the ever-growing party set off once more.

**XXX**

Eowyn had been fully intent on seeing Draug, quickly making her way to the heavily-guarded area she had been told the men were being kept in, when a tall elven female stood with a shout and pointed. A long knife fell from her lap, and she barely missed upsetting a long bow that was leaning on the cot that had been placed out under the stars again as soon as it was deemed safe. On the cot lay an injured elven male, his torso heavily bandaged. He was awake but disoriented, and Eowyn recalled Orophin telling her that this pair had insisted on returning to Ithilien against the orders of Gondorian healers. There was a young soldier with them, who followed the female to his feet and gently gripped her arm with one hand while putting the other on the hilt of the sword resting next to him, squinting his eyes towards the trees she pointed at.

He asked her something in elvish, but Eowyn could only understand that the soldier had called her Niniel. The name jogged her memory, and she realized that these had been the two to escape and warn Aragorn of what was happening in the woods through Rúmil before they even reached Ithilien. Even before the lady finished speaking the soldier released his weapon to wave to anyone else in the area and shouted in Westron, "Oy! There are elves coming from the trees! Lady Niniel says they carry many of their kindred, either dead or wounded."

Eowyn strained her eyes, and soon enough she, too, could see the elves appear between the trees. They were making no effort to hide themselves, likely because someone had scouted ahead to tell the others the camp was clear before any humans were aware of the extra presence. Their faces were solemn, and almost every one of the elves carried another that was dressed for burial. "Someone must warn the healers," Eowyn said quietly. "But there are so few…where are the other elves?"

"There were only a few at the funeral sight before the chaos began yester eve, my lady. The rest were scattered at the time. Some are working to put the camp back in order and heal their fellows, but those who could not fight were sent once more as refuges to Minas Tirith," said Borondir.

"Someone must be sent to catch them, before the council believe they have lost their king as well as…as well as Faramir." Eowyn looked around for a messenger, but there was no one close by them save for the two elves and the soldier. With a resigned sigh and a twirl of skirts, she made her way back toward the ugly healers' tent to deliver the message herself. As a mother she had to find her children, but as the Lady Steward she was the highest authority until Aragorn returned and it was her duty to make sure that things were run as smoothly as possible. Perhaps her children were with the elves who were riding to Minas Tirith, or perhaps they had been found while she saw to Faramir. Whatever had become of her husband's body, he was dead and it was useless to worry about his remains until all else had been set to rights.

So it was that Eowyn busied herself as Hathel and the other elves returned with their dead. She did not see another company come out of the trees farthest from the front of the camp, nor did she hear far-sighted Niniel exclaim, "Tiro! Valar, na vedui Elessar, a Ernil o Ithilien túlar o Mandos! Cuiar!"


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

As usual, thanks for the reviews! They make my heart all happy :-). Believe it or not, I have at least one more twist in mind for our friends, but I have to let them get a little more comfortable first or they might suspect something. Therefore, this is not the end! Once again, the section from Eowyn's perspecitve has some untranslated elvish, since she doesn't understand much of it. Unfortunately, with the exception of that first part, this isn't one of my better chapters since a lot of exposition had to be gotten through. But I can tell you that in the next chapter you may expect more: a baffled king of Rohan, a sad letter from the Shire, and probably the entrance of one very unhappy elvenking! Enjoy...

* * *

Eowyn had assured that the elves had somewhere to put their dead, that the construction of a second large tent for the injured was well under way, and was now in the process of seeing to some of the elves – they knew her, and they were not willing to have a strange human care for them when there were not enough elven healers. Eowyn, however, was struggling to keep herself from tears; she had spoken to Draug, and even under the most severe of threats his story remained the same. Surely the man was mad, and if her children had escaped she prayed they were only lost somewhere in the chaos. She had sent Borondir and several others searching for them, and would have gone herself if there had not been so great a need for her presence. When Aragorn was here she would join the search; she had ordered the soldiers out front to tell her immediately if the king returned.

"Man…man mathach?" Eowyn asked the ellon sitting on the cot in front of her in halting Sindarin. Faramir and Legolas had been teaching her the beautiful language before they… "Man sâd…?" she gestured to his body, unable to remember all of the words quickly enough. (How do you feel? Where…?)

"Ranc nin na harnannen," said the elf, gingerly pulling up his sleeve to reveal a long gash that ran from the back of his wrist to just below his elbow.

Eowyn had not understood the words, but she took the arm gently and began washing it. Although it was long it was not deep, and the lady was glad she would not have to stitch his arm without being able to tell him what she was doing. "Man eneth lín?" Asking for a name was one of the first things Faramir taught her, as well as how to reply.

"Im Losgon, Híril Eowyn. Snow stone." He lifted a few locks of his silver hair with his good hand, then pointed to his grey eyes. Eowyn smiled. His Westron was pronounced as slowly as her Sindarin, but it was clear this elf had taken some time to learn how to explain his name in the common speech. (I am Losgon, Lady Eowyn.)

"Eowyn," she repeated, touching the gold pendant at her neck, a gift from her brother, that depicted a running horse, "Nil Rych."*

Losgon smiled, "Hannon lle, Rohíril." Eowyn bowed her head and turned to get bandages for the arm. (Thank you, horse mistress.)

Suddenly, Losgon started chattering excitedly in Sindarin, much too quickly for Eowyn to comprehend. He did not sound pained, but there was a strained inflection to his voice that made her assume he had discovered some other injury. "Man na?!" Eowyn exclaimed, whirling around with the bandages in her hands. (What is it?!)

Losgon pointed over her shoulder wildly with his good arm, continuing to speak words she did not understand.

"Man na? What is it?!" Eowyn repeated. "I'm sorry, I can't understand you and I don't know anything else! What is wrong?"

"He says to look behind you, love, because there is a dead spirit. But there is no need to fear – sidh, mellon, le na aen." (Peace, friend, you are safe.)

Eowyn knew that voice; it was one she had not expected to hear again. She turned around very slowly, and dropped the roll of bandages. There by the end of the next empty cot stood Faramir. "How…who are you?"

"I am your husband, and you are my wife. Unless things have changed more than I believe?" he said.

Eowyn shook her head, "I cannot believe you. Tell me the truth! _Who are you_?!"

"I swear to you that I am Faramir, who spoke to you last when there was no other who could hear. Do you remember? I said 'I will see you again.' If you believe me not, or if you refuse my heart as you did when we first met, than my spirit dies even though my body has woken. If you let me return to you, and allow me to fulfill the promises I made on our wedding day, then I live and am whole once more. So I promise you again, I will love you beyond death, no matter what darkness we encounter."

Eowyn flung herself forward, and the two met with a prolonged kiss. "How is this possible?" Eowyn whispered.

"It is a long story, love, and I will tell it to you in full later. Know that I live and love thee, and that although I have been to the brink of death I have never crossed that line. I was only sleeping," he replied.

Eowyn buried her face in his shoulder. "I cannot understand it, but I believe you. No other knows those words so well, nor what it was we said when you were…when I thought you were…ah, Faramir!"

"Gentle," Faramir groaned. "I am whole, but not quite hale."

Eowyn released him immediately and sat him down on the cot. "Oh! Look at you, you are a mess! What has…never mind. Just stay here and let me…"

Faramir laughed, "You already have a patient. Finish bandaging him, and I will get the children. They are anxious to see you."

"The children? Then they are safe?"

"Yes, safe and unharmed," Faramir stood, picked up a new, clean roll of bandages, and put them in Eowyn's hands. "But this elf is not! Help him, first, and I will bring them here. Then you may nurse me as you please!"

Eowyn blushed as she turned back to the injured elf. "Goheno nin, Losgon. Na meleth nin, herven nin." (Forgive me, Losgon. He is my love, my husband.)

"Na mae, híril nin. Tiron," he said. He had been at the funeral when Prince Legolas woke from the dead, and although he still did not fully understand his northern cousins' potion, he realized that Faramir must have been under the same spell. (Is is well, my lady. I see.)

Eowyn took his arm and wrapped it, surprised that her hands were so steady. "Gentle," Eowyn said when she was done. She mimed shooting a bow, then shook her head while waving her hands 'no.' "Gentle."

He held the bandaged arm carefully with the other one, running long fingers lightly over the bandage. "Gentall," he nodded, standing. "Hannon lle, a no galu govad gen." (Thank you...)

Eowyn and Losgon bowed to one another, before an exclamation of "Mama!" rang out behind the lady and she turned to catch the two small forms who came hurtling at her. With a smile, Losgon bowed to the man that followed the children and left to tell his friends what he had witnessed.

**XXX**

"Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul!" Legolas hissed. Elladan was caring for his injuries, both the old and the new. The brawl with Gwarod had done his ailing body no favors.

"You've been spending too much time with the dwarves. Do you even know what that means?" said Elladan, trying to lighten the mood as he manipulated the bones in Legolas' fingers.

Legolas glared, "Of course I do; Gimli said it to me often enough before we were friends, and it remains one of his favorites when he is particularly – Valar!" His whole arm trembled with the effort of holding it still. "What in Manwe's name are you doing, anyway? My hands were only sore earlier, and now they are on fire!"

Elladan's smile dropped instantly and he paused in his ministrations. "I am sorry, Las. I have sent Gimli and Kirin to find some pain killers, but with all that has happened we are running low on supplies."

"We are in Ithilien! This is where more than half of Gondor's healing herbs come from!" Legolas snapped. He took a deep breath. "Of course, the ones close by must have been destroyed. But you have evaded my question; what are you doing?"

Elladan sighed, "Trying to make sure you do not end up with uselessly crooked fingers. They were healing while you slept, but they weren't finished yet. Using them seems to have moved some of the bones around, and I'm trying to shift the pieces back into the correct places. I know it's painful, but if we wait and let them heal as they are I might have to break your hands again to make them usable."

"Ah." The tent was quiet for a minute, except for Legolas' unusually heavy breathing. Elladan was glad he had sent the dwarves off on a near-impossible search for more supplies; Legolas would not have been so open about his pain with anyone else – except Elrohir, of course, and perhaps Aragorn. But Aragorn was seeing to his family and running the camp, while Elrohir lay in a healing sleep in the next tent over.

Elladan had seen to his twin's injuries first, followed by Faramir who, as a human, had ended up worse off than Legolas. After deciding that Eowyn was perfectly capable of handling her husband's injuries, he found Gimli attempting to mother Legolas while Kirin looked on in amusement. Legolas himself had looked exhausted – more than exhausted. Elladan sent the dwarves for more supplies, hoping that his friend might be willing to talk about what happened.

But first Elladan needed to look at the physical injuries. Gimli and Kirin had already helped him to eat, undress to his leggings, wash up, and bandage the bleeding gashes left by Gwarod's blade. As usual, Legolas was fairly compliant with their efforts once he had been reassured that everyone else was being cared for. Of course, the dwarves had left the greater injuries for Elladan to deal with. All things considered, there were not many – or at least, not many he could do anything new for.

Now Legolas had his face scrunched up against the pain that Elladan could not avoid causing. Elladan was still holding one injured hand gently, but he was willing to give the other elf as much time as he needed to regain his composure. Elladan had nowhere to go after this but back to his brother's side, and he could feel the steady pulse of Elrohir's dreaming consciousness in his mind. He would know if anything were wrong, and someone would find him if he was needed for any other special case.

Legolas opened one eye. "Have you looked after yourself, Dan? I heard tell that you were shot as well."

Elladan smiled. "Nay, it hit my vest. I've got nothing but bruises, and I promise you I will look at them when I return to Elrohir. Let me see to you first, Las, please. We..we thought you were dead." The fingers twitched mildly, whether in agitation or in an attempt to reassure Elladan of their living presence he did not know. Legolas gasped, and Elladan gently rubbed the back of his wrist. "Shh, keep still and they will not hurt so much. I am sorry I have to hurt you to fix them, but I do not believe it will take much longer. Are you ready to continue?"

Legolas nodded, steeling himself against the pain. As he worked, Elladan started a steady narrative that he hoped would serve as a distraction for the other elf. "Arwen woke briefly when I looked in on her. Aragorn and I both believe she will be fine with a few days of rest. Eldarion said that she nearly defeated all of Gwarod's men single-handedly. I always tease her about letting herself get too prissy as a queen, but it appears that she has been keeping up with her swordplay. I figure I'll have to challenge her to a match once everything has settled down again, just like when we were younger. 'Course, back then Ro and I kept switching places so that she'd get tired and confused, and I don't think we could get that passed her anymore. We have to set a good example for our nephew after all." He paused to reach for a set of sturdy bandages.

"How…how is…arm?" Legolas asked in a strained voice.

"Almost done, Las, I promise. I…I don't know if they'll be exactly the same, but–"

"No, not mine. Eldarion's."

"Oh!" Elladan exclaimed. "Eldarion's arm is set and splinted properly now, and he's sitting with Arwen. I think he's still in shock about everything, but he'll come out of it sooner than the rest of us. Elboron and Faelwen seem to be taking things well as can be expected, too. Human children are wonderfully resilient, and they are incredibly happy just being with their parents. Faelwen asked for you, and I told her that you were probably very sleepy, like daddy – er, Faramir – and would need lots of sleep before you could have visitors. There!" He placed Legolas' hands on his lap. "Now keep them still. Let us get everything done for you, alright?"

Legolas nodded. "I hope Gimli finds something soon."

"He will, he won't stop looking until he's found something for you." Elladan moved Legolas so that he could get a better look at the lacerations which remained on his back. "Aragorn told me he was nigh inconsolable when he came here, fearing you were really…oh, Legolas…" His back remained a half-healed mess, one that Gimli had taken care to wash but left for Elladan to fix.

"That is what Gimli said. Is it really so bad? I can barely feel it."

"It's just…no, you're right. It isn't so bad as it was, and there is no infection." It was difficult to remain the impartial healer, and Elladan wondered how Eowyn had managed seeing Faramir's back, which could not have been nearly as well-healed. "I'll just put some light linens over it, to keep things clean."

"As you will." They were silent again for a few moments as Elladan worked, wishing he could do more for his friend. With a grateful wife, ecstatic children, and a mortal memory, Faramir had no chance to linger on the events of the past weeks just yet. Legolas, even with the love of his friends, could never forget what had happened, and that was what worried Elladan more than any of the physical injuries.

He quietly moved on to the cruelest wounds – the scabbed, mutilated remains of Legolas' ears that were barely hidden by his shorn hair. Legolas flinched violently when just one of Elladan's fingers brushed one, and the healer backed away a little. "Legolas, let me look. I won't do anything without telling you first, I just want to see if I can help you."

"As you will," came the stiff reply, with an equally stiff turn of his neck. As he visually explored the damage and gently manipulated the ear, Elladan's fears were quickly confirmed. There was nothing to be done about these wounds. Of course, he had already known this from his inspections of the other survivors, but to have to tell Legolas, ever proud of his elven heritage, was ten times as difficult.

"Las, I…I am so sorry."

"I know," Legolas whispered, staring at nothing. "I mean, I guessed as much when I saw Niniel. She had some fabric wrapped around her head. It looked pretty with her hair, but I knew…never mind. What does it matter?"

Elladan moved in front of Legolas and made sure the other elf was looking at him. "I think it does matter. At least, it does to you, and that is what makes it important. I don't care what you look like, and I don't think anyone else here does either, but I want to know if you are still the same elf on the inside. From what I see in your eyes, I think not. You've suffered before, but this…this should not have happened!"

Legolas shook his head. "I do not wish to speak of it, not yet. I am tired, Elladan. May I sleep now?" He smiled a little. "You will not try to bury me again, will you?"

Elladan kept his expression serious. "No, never again. If I ever hear of you getting into this kind of trouble again, I will kill you myself!"

"No you don't!" cried a gruff voice. "I have a prior claim to that!" Gimli and Kirin entered, bearing a mug of some foul-smelling liquid. Legolas wrinkled his nose, and Elladan's face broke into a true grin.

"Excellent work, my lords! This is just the stuff we need." He took the mug from Kirin and held it to Legolas' mouth. "Come on now, Las, take it quickly and I promise you can sleep as long as you like."

With a sigh, Legolas opened his mouth to allow Elladan to pour the liquid slowly inside. He grimaced and narrowly avoided choking, but drained the mug in one sitting. Elladan handed it back to Kirin, then he and Gimli helped to settle Legolas on his side. "Are you comfortable, lad? I've no doubt you'll sleep like that for a while, so you had best like the position."

Legolas smiled softly and closed his eyes. "Quite comfortable, thank you."

"Well then, Kirin and I will make sure none disturb you until you are good and ready to wake up, since we were the ones who so rudely woke you last night," said Gimli, gesturing to the axes leaning near the entrance.

"Thank you, Gimli. For everything," said Legolas, drifting even as Elladan pulled a blanket over him.

"You're welcome, lad." The dwarf wiped away a lone tear before anyone could notice, and turned to guide Elladan outside so that Legolas would be left to rest in peace.

**XXX**

_Two days later…_

"I am still not sure I can believe all of this," said Arwen, sitting perfectly still as Aragorn inspected what remained of the wound on her head. She had woken not long after their return to camp, although she was disoriented and had remained awake only long enough to reassure her family that no permanent damage had been done. Then her elven blood had taken over, and she fell into a gentle, healing sleep for two days. Despite his time among the elves, Aragorn could scarcely believe that only bruising remained where Arwen's scalp had been cut.

"I am not sure I can either, and I was witness to much of it," Aragorn replied. "Legolas and Faramir are not the only ones who have returned; there were ten other elves we believed dead who were only sleeping. It seems that the woodelves shared their potion with whoever was nearest."

"How many are truly lost?"

Aragorn bowed his head, "More than I care to say, melleth."

Arwen lifted his chin, forcing him to meet her glare. "Estel…"

"Eighty-three."

Arwen closed her eyes and took a breath. "That is nearly half of those who lived in the main part of the colony."

"I know." Aragorn squeezed her hand. "Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better for more of the elves in Ithilien to live in one place. Then they would not have been driven out so easily."

"It is not their way," said Arwen, "you know that. They need the space, the trees…it is a balance to them. They came here so they would not be forced to live within the confines of a palace or a city."

Aragorn nodded, kissing her hand. "You should come here more often, and stay with your kin. I know Minas Tirith is like a cage for you."

"It is my home, and the door is always open for me to fly – that is why I stay," she answered. "Now, tell me what has happened since I went to sleep again. Where are Faramir and Legolas now? I don't think I can truly believe they live until I see them again."

Aragorn smiled, "They have been here already while you were sleeping, to assure themselves of the same, and they bid me wish you well. But now it is their turn to rest. Although the ungolnen put them to sleep, I have been told it was not a restful one. There is spider venom in the potion, and its poison often arrests the healing process – a sort of suspended animation."

"Aye," said Arwen, "likely to benefit the spiders. It would keep prey from getting any worse, and therefore dying before they could eat them, but it would also keep them from getting healthy enough to escape."

"I am eternally grateful to Dan, Ro, and Eowyn for assuaging their grief by healing our friends, or it may have been too late," Aragorn agreed. "Still, they have needed a great deal more healing over the past few days. Lady Eowyn and the children are attending to Faramir, so he is in excellent hands. Elladan and the dwarves saw to Legolas, and, like you, he fell into a healing sleep."

"You have looked in on both more recently, I assume?" asked Arwen, well aware of her husband's habits.

He smiled, "I spoke to Faramir earlier this morning, and I can assure you our steward is well on the mend. As I told you, Eldarion is with them now; I think he likes spending time with the little ones. Legolas I have not seen for a day and a half. There are two dwarves guarding the entrance to the tent he is resting in, and they will allow none to pass save Elladan."

Arwen laughed, "Then we will know when Legolas is awake. He will try to leave, and Gimli will try to put him back to bed!" Her face saddened suddenly. "I suppose Elladan spends the rest of his time with Elrohir?"

"He comes to see you. But otherwise, yes; he sends much of his energy through their link, to speed Ro's healing. I do not believe it will last much longer; Elrohir will wake soon."

Arwen shook her head. "If only to keep Dan from giving until he is ill himself. It has happened before, and I doubt this will be the last time. What of the others?"

"Help arrived from the city, so we have a few fresh soldiers about. I sent many of them back to Minas Tirith yesterday, to escort the prisoners to the dungeons and the injured men to the healing halls. I have not decided what to do with them yet, and I think it is only fair the elves get a say. Most of the refuges have returned, and until Legolas wakes they are following Rúmil and Orophin."

"Have you set the camp back to order? I remember you telling me it was nearly destroyed in the fighting."

"Yes, and the elves are already purging the land. The cavern where you were taken is no more – they set a fire within it, and once the fire had eaten its way to the surrounding land they put it out and collapsed the cave, with Gwarod's ashes inside. They will burn it again, and then the shamans will bless the place."

"Purify it," said Arwen. "That is well. Have you sent letters to tell our friends that Legolas and Faramir are alive?"

Aragorn smiled; only Arwen would take all of that so calmly and still remember the diplomacy that had to go along with it. "It is taking some time, but I am. The hawk I sent to the Shire returned with a note, and I am waiting for Legolas and Faramir to respond to that one – I think the little ones would like to hear it from their hands. For the others, I sent riders in the hope that they would intercept anyone making their way to Ithilien. It has worked so far; King Eomer will be here by dusk."

"Eomer will not be a problem for you," Arwen reminded him, "Thranduil will, especially if Legolas is still healing when he arrives."

"I'll let the twins handle him, then…it's their fault I sent that letter!"

"That's not fair!" Elladan's voice called from outside the tent. It lowered, addressing the extra guards set to protect the royal family. "Let me in, you know who I am, and they're talking about me!"

Aragorn stood up to open the flap for Elladan, who looked exhausted. "It is perfectly fair, Elladan. Thranduil has always liked you two better anyway!"

Elladan wagged one long finger, his other hand taken up by a lunch tray for the three of them. "Ah-ah, you are the king now, Elessar, and so another king is _your_ problem. Thranduil likes all of us, anyway – he's just never happy with the one who tells him about whatever trouble Legolas has gotten into, and for the past century that has been you."

"But–"

Elladan walked around the king and replaced him at Arwen's side, gently placing the tray on the table next to her. "Hello, Arwen. It is nice to see you awake again; how do you feel?"

"Much better, Dan, thank you. How is Elrohir?"

"Talking with Rúmil and Orophin, actually. He must have woken about the same time you did, and he is somewhat angry with me. Thankfully, he is still forbidden to leave our tent, so I can avoid him by visiting my other patients."

Arwen raised an eyebrow. "Your patients?"

Aragorn rolled his eyes, "He means you, Faramir, Eldarion, and Legolas. Now eat something, Dan, before you flit away again."

"You see three plates, do you not? I mean to stay for lunch, now that Arwen is up," the elf grinned. "And then if I can convince Gimli and Kirin to let me stay long enough, I may nap with Legolas. There's no way they'll let Elrohir in there to pick on me, even if he does manage to get out."

Aragorn threw up his hands and plopped down on the opposite cot with his own lunch. "_Brothers_."

* * *

*Eowyn is Rohirric (Old English) for "one who delights in horses." In elvish, Nil Rych approximately means "devoted to horses."


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR.

There is no excuse for how late this update is, and I beg forgiveness. Thanks for sticking with me anyway! If jabbing me with virtual pitchforks will make you feel better, go ahead, but I would much rather you skipped the poking and went straight to the peace offering - a new chapter. Obviously, it is lacking in the hobbits I promised last time, but its Thranduil's fault: he pretty much took over the whole chapter and pushed everyone else into the next one. So thanks to him, the NEXT chapter will have a sad letter from the Shire AND a new confilct for everyone. With all hope, that one will be up sooner! And here's a game to tide you over until then - can you spot the reference to a certain famous book that has nothing to do with LOTR? Hint: the narrator is a real Beauty.

* * *

A week passed. Legolas woke two days after Arwen and Elrohir, scaring the visiting Elrohir half out of his skin. Despite misgivings about his health, Legolas was soon moving about freely and seeing to his duties as Prince of Ithilien. A second funeral was held for the dead woodelves, after a great number of prayers were said by the shamans, and then a third for the dead of Rivendell and Lothlorien.

With their kin properly buried, the elves turned their attention to their land. They began looking over the maps of their home, marking the places that were damaged, and making plans to rebuild. Already they had rearranged a few of their undamaged buildings as lodgings for the large number of people the colony was playing host to. Eomer had arrived with a small company from Rohan, and there were a large number of people from surrounding towns and farms of Ithilien who came to lend a hand to their elven neighbors. The scouts had sent no word on the whereabouts of King Thranduil as yet, but the Greenwood was far and they expected him to take at least another week to arrive.

Perhaps the imminent arrival of what was likely to be an irate elven king contributed to Aragorn's plans to depart for Minas Tirith within the next week, as the twins often joked. But the truth was that most of Aragorn's men had already returned to the city, and the king was expected to return as well. As much as he wished to stay, Aragorn needed to see to the needs of his entire kingdom, and not just Ithilien.

Meanwhile, Faramir and Eowyn took pains to be as involved in the process of renewal as possible, even though Faramir could do little more than look over the plans from his bed. Eomer, who had indeed arrived the day Arwen and Elrohir awoke, gladly took part when he could, which usually involved watching over his niece and nephew. This morning Elboron had begged his uncle to take him out riding. Eomer had been wary, since a large storm was brewing for the afternoon, but Eowyn had encouraged him to take the children out early so they could wear themselves out before the rain came. Besides that, Aragorn was supposed to come and look at Faramir, and they were trying to avoid letting the children see the full extent of their father's wounds.

So Eomer found himself leading his horse, Dernhelm, on foot through the woods, while the children rode. Firefoot, his mount during the War of the Ring and long before it, had been retired several years ago and now lived comfortably in the stables of Meduseld, where he sired a fair number of sturdy offspring. When Eomer asked his sister what he should call Firefoot's first heir, before they were sure if the mare would bear a male or female, Eowyn had grinned and named the foal for her alter-ego. The name proved to be well-suited, for the horse's white face stood out like a helmet from the rest of the dark brown body.*

After all that happened during the War of the Ring, Eomer had believed Eowyn could not possibly surprise him again. She had proved that assumption wrong many times since then; however, this recent episode was likely to take him more time than usual to get over. Her dead husband had come back in time to rescue their children and fight off hordes of men, only to be declared too injured and ill to leave his bed the next day, all because of the effects of some elvish potion? Eomer simply could not understand it. He shook his head. "Only elves. And only Eowyn…"

"Uncle!" Elboron called, drawing Eomer from his thoughts. "Can we go faster? Please? I could ride him on my own, I am sure! Mamma says I am a very good rider, and you have seen me ride Merrylegs."

Eomer smiled a bit at the mention of his nephew's pony, the one Eomer had given to Elboron for his fifth birthday. He hoped to do the same for Faelwen next year, and he wondered if she would follow in her brother's footsteps and name the creature after one of the hobbits in the stories their parents told. Pippinfoot? Samtail? "I know, Elboron, but Dernhelm is quite a bit larger than Merrylegs. Besides, this is just the right pace for your sister." Indeed, Faelwen clapped her hands and giggled happily whenever Dernhelm 'jumped' the smallest of sticks.

"But uncle, we could go faster if you rode with me; we've done so before!"

"Then there would be no one to watch Faelwen," Eomer replied, "and you would not want us to leave her lost in the woods, would you?"

A glance back at Elboron's face told Eomer that he should never have made the suggestion, but he was saved when Rúmil appeared from the woods on Arod. "Good morrow, Eomer King!" he called as he pulled up next to them. "I see you are enjoying a morning ride. Nothing quite like it."

"Room-eel!" Faelwen squealed.

"Good morrow to you as well, fair Lady Faelwen, and brave Lord Elboron," he replied with a flourish.

"What brings you here?" asked Eomer.

"Lord Legolas has sent me to exercise Arod for him," said Rúmil. Then he made a great show of looking up at the sky, barely visible through the branches. "But alas! It seems the rain will come upon us shortly, and I do believe we will have to race back if we mean to avoid it. But we cannot leave your uncle on foot, can we? Kings get quite rusty if they are left out in the rain." He winked at the children, and Eomer could not help muttering, "Clever elf," under his breath.

"I have an idea!" Elboron exclaimed, looking quite pleased with himself. "Fae can ride Arod with you, Rúmil, and uncle can ride Dernhelm with me."

"An excellent suggestion," said Rúmil, dismounting Arod with fluid ease. "What say you, King Eomer? If the lady is willing, I would gladly have her as a riding partner."

"It seems like a fine idea," Eomer replied. "Faelwen?"

"Yes yes!" she said, reaching her arms out to Rúmil, who lifted her from Dernhelm's saddle and placed her on Arod's bare back.

"Hmm," he said as Eomer mounted Dernhelm behind his nephew. "Faelwen, Arod is very tired after all his exercise this morning. You won't mind if we let your brother go on ahead, do you? I promise we will still make it back before the rain."

"Okay," said Faelwen, her little fingers clutching Arod's mane.

"Thank you, Rúmil," said Eomer.

"It's no trouble at all," he replied before swinging himself up behind Faelwen. "We will see you very soon."

With a nod, Eomer kicked twice at Dernhelm's sides. "Ya!" cried Elboron, with a mild kick of his own, and Dernhelm began galloping back towards home.

**XXX**

As he walked to the room shared by the steward's family, having once again been told that Legolas was 'out,' Aragorn grumbled to himself about the stiff-necked, tight-lipped elves. Whether by accident or intention, there was little time for Legolas to talk casually with anyone about what had occurred. Each time Gimli, the twins, or Aragorn tried to get him aside, something new would come up. Faramir, at least, was stuck in bed and could not really avoid his visitors. He knocked on the door, still lost in his worries.

"What is wrong?" asked Eowyn the moment she opened the door and saw him. "You are a solemn man, but it is rare to see you in so black a humor."

Aragorn sighed; he should have known his mood showed through, and Eowyn was particularly perceptive. "Legolas refuses to talk about what happened, to me or to anyone else. Whenever I ask, or even think about asking him anything, something suddenly comes up."

Eowyn looked cautiously over her shoulder, than lowered her voice. "It is the same with Faramir. He does not like to speak of it, and for now I have been letting him change the subject. But I worry for him."

Aragorn nodded. "Sometimes the mind is broken even when the body is healed. I suppose they deserve time to come to terms with things on their own. However, we need their testimony to prosecute the prisoners who were taken back to Minas Tirith. That will have to happen sooner rather than later; unless they wish to return to the city with me so that they can tell their stories in front of the council and the court, they must give a full account to me as well as several witnesses before we leave Ithilien."

"Mayhap they would feel more comfortable if they spoke together," Eowyn suggested. "When I was thirteen, one of my uncle's advisors attacked me, and he would have despoiled me if my cousin Theodred had not come along. I refused to talk about it to anyone, even though I knew that uncle could not punish or dismiss his advisor unless I told him what happened. Theodred offered to stand with me so that I would not be alone, and to tell his side of the story to assure that I would be believed. It was only then that I spoke against the man. Several other women heard my story and reported similar crimes, some much more violent."

"Then Theoden punished the man?" asked Aragorn.

Eowyn smiled wryly, "Indeed; Rohan laws are severe. A horse-thief will lose their hand, and the one who steals a woman's honor loses his…"

Aragorn resisted the urge to wince. "Yes, I am quite well aware of the way punishments are carried out in Rohan. Arwen has occasionally recommended adopting a similar policy in Gondor, but the council is almost unanimously against it."

"Perhaps it is time women were appointed to your council. I will tell Arwen she should remind your advisors of their wives and daughters; there would be a fair number eager to hold the knife themselves in such a case," Eowyn replied, crossing her arms and fixing Aragorn with a decidedly determined glare.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, well, I will think about it. In the mean time, I should check on your husband. If he would be more comfortable testifying with Legolas, then I will try to get Legolas to agree to it." Eowyn sighed and followed him into the room, glancing warily up at the clouds gathering above them.

**XXX**

Those dark clouds settled heavily, and thunder rumbled through the sky. By late afternoon, rain poured over much of eastern Gondor and Rohan, causing most who lived in those areas to seek refuge indoors. The streets of Minas Tirith were empty, as well as in Emyn Arnen and Osgiliath. In the elven colony some the elves continued to work despite the rain, and others danced through the trees, thoroughly enjoying themselves as they sang praise to the heavens and blessings for their gardens. For the most part, however, the mortals remained indoors, and Gimli, Kirin, and Elladan occupied themselves with keeping a certain pair of immortals from going outside.

Meanwhile, another group of elves could barely hear the thunder above over the noise of their horses hooves' below. Thranduil was determined to make it to the colony before evening, ill weather or no. He whispered praise to his bay charger, having the presence of mind to acknowledge that the horse had to be exhausted. The entire party was; they had barely stopped at all since they had left Mirkwood, and then it was mostly for the sake of the horses. The elves themselves could eat and sleep while riding, or walking if the horses needed further rest. Still, all were glad to push harder today, knowing that the end of their uncomfortable journey was near at hand.

They had not gone much farther when Thranduil sensed another presence in the trees. He raised his hand to signify a silent halt. To his surprise, before Thranduil could call out a warning to whoever stalked their path, a voice from the trees called, "You are right to halt, strangers, for you will go no further in our land. You must go back, or go far around."

Galion put his hand on Thranduil's arm when a low growl issued from the king's mouth, and spoke calmly for his liege. "We know what has befallen this land in recent weeks, and we come to pay our respects to our kin, and to our prince."

"Kin? If you come to pay respects, why do you come armed?"

"Because our road was long, and because we were told evil forces yet besieges Ithilien," Galion answered.

"Reveal yourselves then, and name your lord."

Angrily, Thranduil threw off his hood and glared into the trees. "You look upon him!" he yelled. "Now let us pass or be forced aside; I will not be kept from my son!"

"Hold!" cried a new voice, this one lighter. "It is King Thranduil!"

An elf slid from the branches of a nearby tree, landing with little mess on the muddy ground. He pulled back his hood to reveal red-brown hair, darkened by the rain, braided in the style of the woodelven warriors. He bowed in front of Thranduil's charger. "Gohen nin, Aran Thranduil. I did not recognize you in this weather." A silver-haired elf followed him, as well as a black-haired human ranger.

Thranduil frowned. "Hathel, is it?"

"Yes, sire. We were not expecting you to arrive so soon," Hathel replied, replacing his hood once the king recognized him. He turned to the other elf. "See to it that there is space for King Thranduil and his company, and get a message to our princes and King Elessar." The elf reached for a branch and disappeared into the trees. Hathel continued, "We will escort you on the larger path, so there will be room for your horses. I am afraid the stables were destroyed, but a rudimentary shelter has been constructed for them. There is plenty for them to eat, as well. Minas Tirith has been sending supplies to the colony, to replace what was lost."

"Minas Tirith can _never_ replace lost lives." The venom in Thranduil's voice made the ranger step back, but Hathel did not flinch.

"That is true, my lord, but I think you will find that some lives have been found again."

Thranduil frowned. "What do you mean?"

Hathel shook his head. "There is too much to explain. Allow us to take you onward, for the main part of the colony has been moved to an area that suffered less damage."

Throughout the rest of the journey, Thranduil continued to press Hathel and even the ranger for information. Neither would answer, to his increasing frustration.

**XXX**

"So you will speak with Faramir?" asked Aragorn, a mix of hope and desperation in his voice. For once, Legolas was actually in his room, and Aragorn had managed to corner him into a conversation.

Legolas sighed, "Of course. I had no intention of avoiding such an interview. I merely wished to wait until Faramir was healed."

Aragorn resisted the urge to call his friend's bluff, and instead said, "Than we will find a time within the next few days. He is well enough to talk, and I do not think it will distress him enough to pose any risk. There must be witnesses, of course, and some of them must be uninterested parties. I thought to ask-"

"Invite who you will," Legolas snapped, his gaze suddenly cold. "Have any there who wish to hear, for I grow tired of being pestered for the tale. I wish to tell it but once, and then I wish to put it behind me forever."

Aragorn's brows knit together. "If that is what you want, Legolas, no one will force you to say anything more."

The elf's eyes warmed again. "I am sorry, Estel, I know you are only concerned for me."

Before either could say more, a breathless voice called for the king. The pair shared a glance before stepping out of Legolas' chambers. "Here, Eilinel," called Legolas, when he caught sight of a soaking wet, silver-haired elf making her way down the hall, clearly in search of Legolas' room. "He is with me."

She bowed. "So I had hoped, my lords, for the news concerns you both. Hathel, Anborn, and I encountered a large party of mounted strangers. We meant to turn them away, but one let down his hood. My lords, it is King Thranduil!"

Aragorn felt his jaw drop. "What?"

"Hathel and Anborn are leading the king and his companions here as we speak," she continued, "only they still believe you are dead! The scouts must have missed them."

"It is no wonder," said Aragorn, brushing his hands over his tunic in an attempt to recover himself, "we were expecting King Thranduil to be much farther out."

Legolas smirked, "Have you learned nothing from your own trials as a parent? Never underestimate the speed of a father when he believes his child is in danger."

"Or _dead_," Aragorn growled. "Do not make light of this, you know he is going to kill me!"

"He will do no such thing; that would start a war. Besides, I believe he will be furious with me instead, since I _am _alive and here to blame."

"My lords…"

Aragorn shook his head. "Yes, we're coming, thank you. Please send someone to inform the twins and Lord Faramir."

"And tell Orophin and Rúmil I will not be able to meet with them," said Legolas.

Eilinel nodded once. "I shall see to it personally, my lords, unless you wish me back on patrol the soonest? We are short of rangers."

"Nay, nay; you are needed here," said Aragorn, pinching the bridge of his nose. Eilinel bowed again, then left. Legolas returned briefly to his room, and reappeared with a pair of cloaks in his hands as well as a broad strip of black fabric tied neatly about his head, so that it covered his ears. Such accents had become a near-permanent part of the prince's wardrobe over the last week. In fact, the headbands were quickly becoming popular among all of Ithilien's elves; they were a sort of statement of solidarity, so that those who wore them to cover their ruined ears did not stand out so much.

"Do not forget this," Legolas said as he placed the one embroidered with tree, stars, and crown over Aragorn's shoulders. "We do not need you catching a cold, and Eilinel was soaked through."

Aragorn sighed and wrapped the cloak tightly around himself before drawing up the hood. "I suppose." He glanced at Legolas as they made their way toward the exit. "Of course it would be pouring; with your hood up and the rain coming down so hard, I wonder if even your father will recognize you."

"Would you prefer I went out in naught but my skin? 'Twould be of no consequence to elves of Greenwood," Legolas laughed, unclasping his cloak as if to throw it aside.

Aragorn shook his head and shut the clasp, adjusting the cloak properly around the elf. "My men would certainly mind it, and you are still healing."

Even under the hood, Legolas' eyes sparkled. "You see? Ada will not be angry with you; you coddle me as much as he does!"

Aragorn groaned. As soon as they stepped outside, any part of them not covered with the oiled cloaks was instantly drenched, and even then the water tried to work its way inside the fabric. The pair sloshed through the mud to what had become the main road of the make-shift colony, and stood waiting. It was not long before five more hooded figures arrived, revealed only upon speaking to be Arwen, the twins, Eomer, and Eowyn on behalf of her husband. Moments later they could hear the approach of a great number of horses. Hathel and Anborn appeared out of the rain like wraiths, followed by Thranduil's company, who dismounted once Hathel paused in front of Aragorn and the others.

"My lords," said Hathel with a bow, "I present King Thranduil of Eryn Lasgalen."

Thranduil, apparently untroubled by the state of his appearance or the way his wet hair stuck to his forehead and dripped into his eyes, stepped forward. "I am sure they know that already, Hathel. Although I thank you all for coming to greet me in this weather, I wish only to speak to King Elessar and seek the grave of my son. I do not need a crowd of grievers. The rest of my company would appreciate lodging for themselves and our horses."

Aragorn bowed to the elves. "I am Elessar, and I am sorry for all that you must have been through. But King Thranduil, the grave you seek does not exist!"

The elvenking's eyes flashed. "What do you mean? He should have been buried more than a week ago according to our traditions! Hathel, you at least would have known that!"

"My king, hear him out," said Hathel. "The ceremonies for the dead have been observed."

"Then why would my son have no grave? What – has his body remained unrecovered?"

Legolas pulled down his hood. "Your son's body is right here, along with his fëa."

Thranduil had to grip his charger's mane to keep his legs from failing completely. The heavy rain did little to impair his vision when they were this close to one another, but he could scarcely trust his own eyes. "Sen tîr?" (Is it true?)

"Na. Cuian, hebo sidh," Legolas replied, throwing open his cloak despite the noise of disapproval Aragorn made behind him. (It is. I live, have peace.)

Thranduil carefully made his way closer, unsure if his legs would carry at all, until he and Legolas met in the middle of the two groups. He gently took his son's face in his hands, just as he had when the prince was first born, his fingers brushing across eyelids, cheeks, nose, and lips. When Thranduil's fingers reached the headband, Legolas put his hand over his father's and laughed. "Ada, na nîn." (Dad, it is me.)

Then Thranduil cried out and crushed Legolas within his arms. After several moments of listening to his father whisper prayers of thanks to every one of the Valar, Legolas laughed again and pulled away. "Come, let us all get out of this rain. It's not good for mortals, you know," he said with a wink at Aragorn.

"Anborn, fetch someone to care for the horses. Hathel, find a dry place for the king's company to stay," said Aragorn.

Legolas turned to the other elves for a moment. "Forgive us, but we are rather short on housing."

Galion shook his head, "My prince, nothing could warm us more than the sight of you alive and well. There must be a great story behind all of this, worthy of song."

"Many songs have already been sung for this venture. We do not need anymore," Legolas answered. Then he took his father's arm and began leading him toward the main building.

"Come," Arwen said to the remaining elves, "you must be weary. I am sure there are still places to rest. Meleth, you and the others should go with Thranduil. Hathel and I will sort out lodging, and then I will join you."

Aragorn nodded gratefully, then followed Legolas and Thranduil. He drew Eowyn aside as they walked. "Now that Thranduil is here, there may be no better time than this eve for them to speak, if you believe Faramir will be willing?"

"Aye, he is willing. It will be a relief for all of us, I hope, and bring them back to us in full."

"As do I," Aragorn replied, eyeing the father and son ahead of them. "As do we all."

"Whatever you are whispering back there, Elessar," Thranduil called without turning around, "do not think you are getting off so easily. You are the one who sent me that letter."

* * *

*Dernhelm is the name Eowyn used when she dressed in men's armor and rode with Rohan's army to Minas Tirith. It means 'secret helmet' in old english according to "The Languages of Tolkien's Middle-earth" by Ruth Noel.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

Can it be? An update so soon? YES, and it's longer, better, and more action-packed than the last one! Well, I certainly hope it is, anyway. At the least, our friends in Middle Earth are in for a nasty shock. And poor Aragorn - past 100 and still on the recieving end of lectures from a worried father. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

For anyone who is interested, the reference in the last chapter was to _Black Beauty_. Merrylegs the pony is a main character towards the beginning of it.

* * *

When at last the tale was told in full, there was silence in the large study, save for the fire which crackled and failed to warm them. Eowyn held Faramir close to her, leaning him back against her chest and tightly entwining their hands in his lap. Eomer watched the pair, one comforting hand on his sister's back, where it had remained for most of the evening. Next to them Aragorn looked from one of their friends to the other, shaking with anger and subconsciously curling his hands protectively around Arwen and Eldarion. Tears fell down the queen's face, and she held one hand over her heart, as though it pained her. Eldarion had burrowed into his parents embrace, and he held his healing arm tighter against his body.

In the opposite corner Thranduil looked distraught, because Legolas stood rigidly to one side of him staring into the flames, clearly unwilling to suffer even his father's touch. Rúmil, Orophin, and the twins shared glances, ranging from worry to fury. Gimli's fingers twitched against the upholstery, and it was clear he was working very hard to maintain some decorum. Kirin traced the symbols carved into the helmet he held in his lap, and the light of the fire gave his eyes a dangerous look – one to match his uncle's. Two others who had served as impartial witnesses, soldiers who had come to Ithilien after the fighting, sat in chairs to the rear, appalled by what they had heard.

At last, Aragorn managed to speak. "These men…nay, these beasts, will suffer for their crimes. That I can promise you."

Legolas turned away from the fire to address the king. "Not all of them deserve to suffer. I told you, I could hear them speak, and I am sure it was Gwarod's deceit that led them so astray."

"It would be better for some of them to be returned home, and banished from setting foot in Ithilien or any other area where elves still live," Faramir agreed.

"It will be difficult to sort out the fools and the villains," said Aragorn, "but I will try to make the council consider it."

Gimli snorted, "Only the two of you would survive all of that and request leniency for your captors. I would take my ax to them all if I could!"

Eowyn shook her head. "Give me an ax to wield, Gimli, and I will join you. I cannot imagine a man foolish enough to fall into such wickedness."

Faramir raised their joint hands and kissed her fingers. "You are too wise and strong to understand such men, my love. And Eru preserve us the day you are handed an ax!"

Kirin smiled. "From what I have heard, I believe the lady could wield an ax better than many a man."

Eomer looked appalled. "Master Dwarf, I will go on my knees and beg you to make no such gift! My sister already has a sword, and a sharpened tongue that she uses to de-horse many."

Eowyn scowled at her brother and swore colorfully in Rohiric. Eomer winced, and the twins laughed heartily. "De-horsed, indeed!" Elladan grinned. "You have lost the match, Eomer King."

Eomer looked up, a blush darkening his cheeks. "I was…unaware that you knew our language, my lords."

Elrohir sniggered. "Your sister has been an avid teacher."

"And we are fast learners."

Eomer shook his head. "I regret that she has taught you those particular terms. If you wish to learn more, I could certainly arrange for it. I would not have you think…"

"Oh no!" cried Elrohir. "We have spent enough time learning the proper diplomatic terms in nearly every language you can imagine from sad elves and dusty old books. We would _much_ prefer to learn it this way!"

Eomer's blush deepened, then he laughed as well. "Then by all means…"

The laughter eased much of the tension and sorrow built up over the evening. Thranduil tugged gently on his son's sleeve, hoping to entice him to join. "Please, Las, sit with me. In days past you would already be sharing unsavory stories of your own."

Legolas joined his father and accepted offered shoulder to lean against. "It is nothing, ada. My mind is not much interested in games tonight, and I am tired."

"I know. Perhaps you could leave someone else in charge for a while? Take a rest, and come home with me," Thranduil offered, stroking the golden hair that fell down his son's back.

Legolas shook his head. "I can't just leave this mess for everyone else to deal with. What kind of a leader would that make me?"

"Not now, then, but maybe in a month? I will stay at least that long, for I could not bear parting with you now! I thought you were dead."

"So did I," Legolas whispered.

The moment was interrupted by another loud round of laughter. The elves looked up to see Faramir cross his arms, a grin belying any ill feeling toward whatever had been said. "I am beginning to think there is a larger conspiracy against me here. This is the second time you have tried to bury me alive! It is a shame Master Peregrin is not here to save me again."

"Ah! That reminds me," Aragorn exclaimed. He began to riffle through the pockets of his robe until he pulled out a folded rectangle of parchment. "One of the hawks returned with a letter from the Shire. It is some days old now, but I thought I would allow Faramir and Legolas to answer it when both were well enough."

"Read it aloud," called Gimli, "we would all like to hear of the little folk."

Aragorn hesitated. "It is of a sobering nature."

"This is a night of sorrows and joys," said Thranduil. "Let us share them all."

There was a general mummer of agreement among the gathered company, so Aragorn unfolded the letter and began to read:

"Dear Strider,

Our most sincere regrets for your losses. You must be greatly aggrieved, to have lost not one but two dear friends. Please send our deepest sympathies to Lady Eowyn, as well, and to her children. We know how painful it is to lose someone you love so very much, and that these words are ill suited; there is naught but time that makes such wounds easier to bear.

Dear friends are still your friends when they go away, and so it is with Faramir. We preserve him by deed in our tales, and by name in little Faramir Took, who seems to be growing into his name quite nicely. As for Legolas, though all the stars in the sky be between us, the bond of the nine will never be broken. You don't go on a venture like that and just forget about the people you went with – it isn't proper sense, for hobbit, man, elf, dwarf, or wizard. You can end the fellowship, but you can never change who was a part of it.

For all that Faramir and Legolas did, they deserve the highest honors in the highest halls of kings. We cannot give them that, but we have honored them in our own simple way. Mugs of ale (full pints, mind you), have been poured out for each of them in every tavern in the Shire, and we have told tales of them to any hobbit who would listen, young or old.

Still, our grief is not yet mended, and we would like to accept your invitation to visit the places they rest. We will wait for your guards, but please send a note to tide us over, or we shall begin the journey ourselves. Then we can tell tales together, and they will live again.

May your sorrows be swiftly lifted,

Samwise Gamgee, Meriodoc Brandybuck, and Peregrin Took"

Legolas sighed, "Our poor friends. They deserve to live without such heartache after all they have been through, and I regret being the cause of their pain."

"Heartache is a part of life, and you can end theirs soonest, and bring them great joy by answering the letter," said Aragorn.

"But it can wait until the morning," Eowyn said sharply. "We should take some rest, and allow ourselves the chance to digest all that we have heard."

"Yes," Arwen agreed, "we need time for our hearts to cool." She rose, and most of the others stood with her. Eldarion tried to scoot closer to his uncles, who were sure to allow him to stay up later with them, but Arwen's sharp eyes caught his fidgeting. "Not tonight, Dari."

"But nana!" the prince whined.

Elladan leaned down slightly and whispered, "Go on now. It is ever mother's nightmare, to be helpless when their child is in danger, and she has just had to relive it. It will help us all sleep soundly tonight if we know where you are. Ro and I will personally keep watch outside your door."

With a heavy sigh, Eldarion went back to his mother's side. He made sure, however, to slouch in a way which let everyone know he was not pleased to be doing so. Arwen smiled, her long fingers running affectionately through her son's hair before settling on his shoulder so she could guide him out. "Good night, my lords," she called. The gathered company replied in varying forms, bowing as they departed. As promised, Elladan and Elrohir followed close behind her. But when Aragorn attempted to do the same, Thranduil tapped on his shoulder.

"I would have a word with you, King Elessar." Aragorn paled.

Rúmil whispered to his brother, "How much do you want to bet this is the reason the twins decided to leave so quickly? Of course, we had a hand in this, too, so perhaps now would be a good time to make our own exit." Orophin laughed, covering it in a fit of coughing. "Orophin!" Rúmil exclaimed with great emphasis. "I do hope you are not growing ill after being out in the rain! We had best retire as well." He wrapped one arm around Orophin's shoulders and started for the door.

"I thought elves could not get sick like that?" Kirin frowned.

"There's a first time for everything," Rúmil called over his shoulder.

Gimli shifted uncomfortably, noting that even the two witnesses were making a subtle exit. "Now then, seeing as mortals can so easily sicken, and if elves could have gotten sick in a storm like that…"

Thranduil turned to the dwarves. "Lord Gimli, I wish nothing but health on you and your kin. From what I have heard, you are the one who saved Legolas and Lord Faramir. I have already told you I am grateful for all you did for my son during the war, and now I find myself in your debt again." He bowed. "Many thanks, _elvellon_."

Gimli turned red behind his beard. "You're welcome. Had to save the lad, gets far too boring without him. Bloody foolish creature, but a good one." With bows, the two dwarves left.

Thranduil smiled. "My thanks to you as well, Lord Faramir and Lady Eowyn."

"We owe the same to Prince Legolas," Eowyn replied as she helped her husband stand.

"Aye, but I would ask that in you grant me a favor, your majesty," said Faramir.

"What is that?"

"Please, leave the king intact and let no wars come between our people. It is a great deal more paperwork for me than it is for him."

Thranduil laughed, "I had no intention of causing any harm. Get yourselves to bed, and you have my word that all will still be well between the kingdoms of elves and men come morning."

"Goodnight then, your majesties," Eowyn smiled.

Eomer ran to the other side of his law-brother. "Allow me; you must be exhausted. Goodnight, my lords!"

Legolas shook his head as the door shut again. "You certainly know how to clear a room, ada. I think I will take my leave as well."

"Legolas!" Aragorn pleaded.

The prince smirked. "Ah-ah, Aragorn. The fault is not mine, this time, for how was I to know no one would think of the ungolnen?"

"But I had never heard of it!" he exclaimed.

Legolas shrugged, "You could have asked the woodelves about the 'poison' you found so many bodies carrying. Besides, it is your turn; I told you that I would have my revenge for suffering Elrond's lecture alone when you came down with the flu."

"But that was over fifty years ago!" Aragorn called, highly dismayed to receive nothing but a laugh in return as Legolas vanished through the door.

"Fifty years is of very little consequence once you reach one hundred," said Thranduil coolly.

Aragorn could feel the elvenking's voice wrap around him and tighten, like a snake going in for the kill. He sighed and turned around, resigned to his fate. "I suppose that is true."

"Indeed." Then Thranduil exploded, and Aragorn wondered if it would be possible to make a run for the door. "Now, do you have any idea how worried I was? Your letter, your carelessness very nearly destroyed an entire kingdom! That is no way to tell a father that his son is dead; it was filled with your own self-pity! Now, you are young and might be excused for that, but you have always claimed to be a great friend to Legolas. What could possibly make you give up on him so quickly? I know of many times when he has brought you back to life when you have been near death, why could you not do the same?"

"But the twins–"

"No buts! From what I hear, if they and Lady Eowyn had not used healing as a means to process their grief, my son and your steward would be dead. The way you handled things recklessly endangered everyone! You let your feelings cloud your judgment, and so not only sent that ill-written letter, you put off dealing with your prisoners. You should be ashamed. It is the duty of a king to look after everyone under his charge, and since Legolas is currently acting as your vassal, you might have put something into place earlier for Ithilien's more immediate protection."

Aragorn winced; that was the very thing he had been scolding himself for. "You are right on that point, my lord."

"I should be, I've been a king for three thousand years. And you, even if you haven't been a ruler for long, you've been friends with Legolas long enough to know that he is far too trusting! His flaws may be my fault, but you are supposed to know how to deal with them! Send him an advisor or something, humans are always suspicious!"

"Now that isn't right, not _all_ humans–"

Thranduil glowered. "Do not toy with my words. If you were an elf, you would still be considered young enough to be 'grounded', as you humans say. Since I can't enforce that, I can ask your wife to withhold other things. She owes me a favor."

Aragorn blinked. "Arwen owes you a favor?"

"Yes, is that so hard to believe?" Thranduil replied, crossing his arms. "Come to think of it, so do you. If it were not for me, Arwen would have married Legolas about six hundred years ago. My wife was friends with Elrond's, and they were planning a ceremony from the day our children met. Of course, I am sure they would have been just as happy to have Legolas marry one of the twins, but my wife was attempting to finagle a match that would result in grandchildren."

"Why was I never told of this?" asked Aragorn, a strange mixture of amusement, jealousy, and hope filling him – the hope being that the elvenking would forget the rest of his lecture.

One corner of Thranduil's mouth twitched upward. "Probably because it is an embarrassing tale for all involved, and so long as I do not tell you the full story I still get to hold it over their heads. Now, where was I? Ah, yes. What were you thinking? In all my years, I never…"

Aragorn groaned and cursed under his breath.

**XXX**

Still laughing to himself at Aragorn's predicament, Legolas walked outside and began a leisurely stroll into the woods. Clouds remained in the wake of the storm, so that the moon and the darkening sky could rarely be seen through them. The night was cool and smelled pleasantly of rain, but Legolas found that his mirth quickly died. Even in this part of the colony there were signs of the destruction Gwarod and his men had wrought. It seemed nothing could keep Legolas occupied long these days. His body was still filled with twinges of pain, especially in his ears, and even the tiny bit of spider venom that was in the ungolnen meant his muscles would be sore for many weeks to come.

He redirected his course toward a small, secluded pond, hoping a dip in the cold water would ease the aches. It was unlikely anyone else would be there; it was too late for bathers and too early for lovers. Twilight was the time for wanderers and lost souls. Which of those he was, Legolas was no longer certain.

He passed between two trees, both covered in runes. The pond lay in the middle of a circle of such trees, all marked for the protection of unwary bathers. The runes appeared to work, for the pond had remained unscathed by the sack of Ithilien. But such magic would not have worked on the entire colony; it was meant for small safe-havens, and the spell worked more as a cloak than real protection. The minds of mortals would skip over the place, and leave it unrecognized. Even Gimli had never seen this particular pool, and he respected that the elves had a right to keep some places a secret, just as the dwarves did.

Legolas walked around the pond once, carefully checking the runes and looking for stalkers, before he began to shed his clothes. A true child of the wood, he had no troubles with anyone seeing his body – a fact that had greatly disconcerted some members of the fellowship until they all grew so filthy none cared if they bathed and dried off in the same spot, so long as there was water. The issue was that Legolas himself had not taken the time to look at his own body since he had acquired his new scars. His friends had seemed to pity him so for them, he feared what he looked like. He did not want anyone else to see.

Tonight, safe because of the cloud cover, Legolas gladly walked out to the center of the pond, where the water rose to his waist, and then immersed himself. He came up and floated on his back for a while, trying not to let his thoughts wander back to Gwarod. The soft whisper of a song hummed in his ear and eased his mind, and a breeze gently buffeted his body along small ripples. The air smelled of sweet rain – no, not sweet. Salty. There was salt on this wind, and the ripples became waves that carried him further out. Nothing but water, and that lullaby without words. Something white floated above him, and the humming grew louder, more insistent that he let go completely, let go and be carried out to sea. The sea! Above him, the white gull cawed and with a start Legolas forced himself under water, the sudden dunking helping him to wrench his mind free.

He came up sputtering, and took a moment to catch his breath. He saw white out of the corner of his eye and looked down fright, but it was only the moon reflected on the surface of the water, showing through a large break in the clouds. But that moonlight revealed a fearful figure, staring back out at him from the water. It had short, stringy, wet hair that reflect the moonlight, haunted eyes, and hollow cheeks. Its chest was crisscrossed with scars, some older than others, and the hands were gnarled, with bulbous knuckles and rough skin. Worst of all were the creature's ears. The edges were jagged, and the tips were scarred over so badly they looked like they were covered in tumors.

Legolas shoved his hand through the image, then raced back to his clothes. He had only just finished tying the cloth around his head when he heard footsteps approaching. He pulled his tunic over his head and stood up, slightly thankful that it was long but more concerned with how close these others had come to seeing his scars. He need not have worried; the two who came through the spelled trees bore too many of their own scars to notice his.

"Prince Legolas," said both in elvish, bowing.

"Niniel, Finmar," he replied with a nod to each.

"I hope we are not interrupting?" said Niniel. "We can go elsewhere."

Legolas reached for his breeches. "Not at all; I was just leaving."

"Are you sure? If you wish, we will leave. Or we could all share the pool, it is certainly big enough," said Finmar.

Legolas was already tying his breech laces. "Nay, nay. If I do not return soon, my father will look for me. He has probably worn himself out yelling at Aragorn, but I do not wish to risk it." The two elves smiled, then walked to the edge of the pool. "It is good to see that you are both on the mend, since you are able to come out here," Legolas commented as he pulled on one boot and searched for the other.

"Relatively speaking," said Finmar, removing his tunic. "We will be better next year."

"Next year?" asked Legolas.

Finmar looked up, apparently confused as to why Legolas would need to ask. "Aye, it may take that long for us to reach Mithlond, what with all the work that must be done and how far we must travel."

"And who can say how long until we reach Valinor?" Niniel sighed.

Legolas frowned. "You are sailing, then? You have decided for sure?"

"Have you not?" asked Niniel gently, her grey eyes filling with pity.

"Nay, I…it is not something I was going to consider. I need to stay here, I need to lead our people out of this darkness." His tone was not as strong as his words. "Why are you leaving?"

"Look at us, Legolas," said Finmar, spreading his arms so that the moon, just peeking out from behind the dark clouds, showed the puckered mark on his chest where one of the arrows had struck him. With the headband removed, his brown hair fell just above his ruined ears. Niniel's red hair had once covered her breasts, and now it hung unevenly around her face and barely scraped her neck. Bruises that should have faded days ago still covered much of her body, and a scar on her ankle marked the knife wound that had led to her capture. "Even if you do not see it, you _must _feel it."

"There is an ache here," said Niniel, spreading her palm over her heart, "and an endless buzzing in my mind. I cannot forget what they did to us, and when I try to dream I only imagine that they managed more."

"They have ruined us," Finmar spat.

Legolas balked. "No! Men cannot ruin elves, that is what orcs do. Men are changers, they have tried to change us as their world transforms."

"Change or ruin, it is the same to elves," said Finmar. "What place is there for us in this world? It will change, and we will not. We may make Ithilien beautiful, but it will not be long ere all the elves are gone and all we have done here is a memory. We have been changed by these men, as you say, and we cannot change back. We do not want to wander a world near empty of our kind as shadows."

"I am only glad that we have found one another in all of this. I cannot imagine the pain of one who suffers alone." Niniel looked at him pointedly.

Legolas backed up, nearly toppling himself back into the pond. "I am not alone."

Niniel walked forward and put her hand on his cheek. "You speak to no one, you make no choice, and your eyes are remain those of a dead creature. If you do not intend to sail, then you must find another way to heal, or you will be lost."

Again, the lullaby of the sea filled his mind. Legolas shook his head hard, forcing Niniel to release him and spraying her with water from his hair. "No, no!"

Niniel backed away again. "We are sorry, my lord. Do you want us to leave?"

Legolas rubbed his temples. "Nay, stay. I will go, I have to…I need to think." He practically ran back to his rooms. When Thranduil returned, hoping to cheer his son with the tale of his talk with Aragorn, Legolas was lying on his bed staring at the ceiling. Well aware that it was likely Legolas was brooding, not sleeping, the king blew out the last candle anyway and settled into a bed that had been set up across the room. They would talk tomorrow.

**XXX**

The next evening, Faramir glanced warily around his room as he entered, having taken a minor side-trip to the outhouse. "Eowyn?" Although the candles were glowing, there was no answer, and he could hear the gentle rise and fall of her voice from the adjoining room where his children were, likely engaged in a story.

Faramir sighed with relief. He eased himself onto the bed, wincing a bit at the ache in his ribs and fingers twitching from the effort of not scratching at the scabs on his back. In fact, his entire body was sore. As much as he did not wish to confront Eowyn, he hoped that she would return before he fell asleep completely, so that she could help him put some of the herb paste Aragorn had given them on his skin.

After pulling off boots, jacket, and tunic, and gingerly removing the last of his bandages, Faramir reached for the bottle of poultice that had been warming in a harness over one short candle. As he rubbed some of it on his shoulders, he instantly felt more at ease. Of course, without the strain on his body, his mind wandered into hazards of its own.

Perhaps Eowyn was right to worry for him so. He hadbeen moping about, jumping at every noise in the dark. Even when he lay down to rest, he slept only when he could no longer keep his eyes open. It never took long, he was usually exhausted, but the truth was he did not _want_ to fall asleep. The thought of going to sleep again, and this time to never wake, terrified him far more than the torture Gwarod had put him through. Wicked men he could fight. Injuries he could heal from. But death was unpredictable, and if he could not even be awake to see it coming, how was he to prepare himself? Painless, perhaps, but such a death would be senseless.

That was the way his mother had gone. Both he and Boromir had gone in to kiss the sleeping Finduilas goodnight before leaving for their own beds. He remembered she felt cold then, and she had barely seemed conscious when he spoke to her. Faramir had woken early the next morning, hearing an anguished cry from his parents' rooms across the hall. The guards had barred him and Boromir from entering, and they had not known what happened until hours later. Lady Firiel had been the one to tell them, as gently as possible, that their mother had died sometime during the night. _"Slipped into that sweet sleep from which there is no waking"_ she had called it, and Faramir had not understood. He had only known that his mother was gone, along with the love his father had once showed to him. And why had she died? Because she was so sad and lonely away from Dol Amroth, they said. Senseless; only those with fragile elven blood died from heartache.

But did not he, Faramir, carry his mother's weakness? He and his brother may have shared many features, but it was Faramir who had taken more after his mother. Would this pain lead him to fade away, just as she had?

"Faramir! I told you not to do that yourself!" Eowyn appeared above him and snatched the bottle from his hand. He had not heard her come in, let alone come so close. "How many time must I remind you? Could you not wait for me?" She frowned down at him, one hand on her hip.

Faramir sighed. "I was in pain, Eowyn, and I had a means to relieve it. Would you deny me that?"

Eowyn's face softened. "Of course not; I only wish to keep you from causing yourself more pain. Here, let me help." She moved to sit behind him, and began gently rubbing the poultice on his back. "I am sorry I was late, I was speaking with Lady Rían. She is supposed to return with the king to Minas Tirith, but she really does not wish to stay there anymore."

Faramir nodded, allowing himself to relax into his wife's hands. "Rían was a good friend to me, and she loved Boromir. She deserves to find happiness somewhere."

"Perhaps she could find it in Ithilien." Eowyn replaced the bottle's stopper and put it back on the bedside table, moving so that Faramir could see her face. "I was thinking, the children have grown very fond of her. Her place is not as a nursemaid, but perhaps she could come stay with us for a time? She should have been the steward's wife, and now she cannot even be the steward's widow. It is high time she was given the chance to be something other than a nobleman's daughter again."

"Ah, Eowyn!" Faramir wrapped his arms around her shoulders and kissed her. "You are a champion of your sex. Of course Rían may come to stay with us. If she is ever restored to her former self, I dare say you and she will turn Ithilien into a haven for all the wise women of Middle Earth!"

Eowyn smiled, although there was a strange glint in her eye that worried Faramir. "She is not the only one who needs restoration. There is something bothering you still, something more than memories, and I would know of it."

Faramir groaned. There was simply no escaping Eowyn when she really wanted to know something. Once she grew tired of subtlety and gentle persuasion, she would simply ask outright and give him no room to avoid her. That did not mean he wasn't going to try. "Love, I told you, I am still in pain. You have done wonders to ease that, and telling you and the others about our captivity has indeed eased my mind. It will still take time, give me time to recover!"

"I am giving you time, but you will not recover if you hide from me!" Eowyn's face flushed with anger, and Faramir could see the stubborn warrior in her rise up against him. She gripped his arm hard. "You once asked me to ease your heart as we both waited on the very precipice of the eternal dark, and I told you that my hands were not gentle. But you spoke so plainly that it made my own heart melt, and we were both healed." Faramir looked away, and Eowyn shook him. "Speak to me as you did then! Tell me what is wrong!"

"Eowyn, stop! You are hurting me!"

She released his arm, but held his face between her hands instead and forced him to look at her. "I may have softened, Faramir, but I will not gentle you, for you are not so fragile!"

"Am I not?" he yelled, throwing her off and to the side, so that she landed on the bed. He stood up and began pacing about the room, unable to stop the wild gestures of his hands as he spoke. "I have left my wife and children to care for me, because I was too weak to stand the thought of being dragged off to more tortures at the hands of those men! Like a coward I drank a potion that I knew would let me avoid that pain, even if it resulted in my own death! What kind of husband, what kind of father does that make me?"

"One who does not wish to suffer, like any other man!" cried Eowyn. "Legolas took that potion first, and if all the elves of his home carry it, does that make them cowardly?"

"I am not an elf! Men should be able to endure more! We do not die because our hearts are broken."

"You hold it against him, then?"

"Of course I don't! They hated elves, I have no doubt they would have thought of worse things for him to endure. He was being sensible!"

"As were you, with what knowledge you possessed. How were you to know it was a rescue that came, and not more of your captors?"

"I should have, my ears were not the ones that were mangled! Ah, my father was right! I am weak, I am a coward." He slumped into a chair and buried his face in his hands. "I cannot even sleep, for fear that I will not wake the next morning."

"Like your mother," Eowyn whispered.

"I am afraid to die! Was I not Captain Faramir, who faced down death countless times alongside his men? Who has been to the brink and come back? Who once wished for death to take him?" He looked up, and was surprised to find that the image of his wife was blurred by tears. "I am not like Boromir, who was never frightened of anything, and I have accepted that. But how can I live with myself, how can I be a good father, if I cannot even sleep for fear I will die before I wake, and be trapped forever in the darkness?"

Eowyn stood up and crossed the room to him. She knelt before him, and for a long moment studied him seriously. She reached one hand up and ran it gently over his hair, face, and chest, until it came at last to clasp with one of the hands he held in his lap. Then she said, "There is not a man or woman in this world who does not fear their own death, so long as they have something worth living for. No, you are not a coward. You are a man, and a good one, who took the road he thought would best lead him back to his family. And it has." She held up their clasped hands and kissed them, a few teardrops of her own wetting their fingers. "Look, Faramir, it has led you back to me."

Faramir did look. Then he pulled Eowyn into his arms and kissed her soundly. As they made their way back over to the bed, Eowyn smiled mischievously. "You will not die in your sleep, my love, because I will give you a reason to look forward to waking. It is too bad that you need me to be gentle…"

Faramir grinned, "I think you will find that I am not so fragile." When he finally did sleep that night, Faramir was without fear, and his dreams were of a very pleasant nature.

**XXX**

Thranduil remained in bed for a moment, trying to figure out what had woken him. It was still dark, although a change in the light told Thranduil that the sun was on its way up. He looked over to Legolas' bed and noticed it was empty. He sat up and looked around, finally noting that the door to the balcony was open. Silently, Thranduil got out of bed and pulled on his robe. He walked to the door, and found his son out on the balcony, staring at the horizon line above the trees. Legolas was clearly upset, and it was rare that anyone could get him to actually talk about whatever was bothering him. Thranduil took a deep breath, preparing himself for what was sure to be another difficult conversation, and walked out on the balcony. "It is a beautiful sight, and I believe we will have some sun today"

"Yes," Legolas answered, turning to face his father. "I want to talk to you about something."

"What?" asked Thranduil, not entirely sure he had heard correctly. It was _never_ this easy.

"I need to talk to you," Legolas repeated. "I've made a decision, and I want you to know that I have put a lot of thought into it. It's been on my mind for weeks now, even if I did not want to admit it to myself, but I think I have always known the answer."

"Oh? Well, I am glad you have decided, one way or the other. I knew some matter was troubling you, and now that its settled I hope things will get better," said Thranduil. He paused for a moment, then asked, "What exactly was this decision?"

Legolas fiddled with the hem of his shirt for a moment, and Thranduil held his breath. If Legolas was nervous, it had to be something big. After what seemed an age to the elvenking, Legolas looked up again. "Ada, I wish to travel back to Greenwood with you and stay for a time."

Thranduil breathed again with relief. Was that all this was about? Maybe Legolas worried that his father would have been offended if he decided to stay in Ithilien, or that the elves in Ithilien would think he was abandoning them. If that was the case, it would not be too difficult to set Legolas' mind at ease. He smiled. "Good, good. I had hoped you would agree."

"And then I want to ride on to the Grey Havens, and sail to Valinor."

The words took a moment to register, and when they did Thranduil very nearly fell off of the balcony.


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

Thanks for your favs and reviews, especially ziggy3, ebbingnight, GreenGreatDragon, Lora Perry, guardyanangel, and Elvewen! I'm glad you've enjoyed it, because I've had fun writing it. And there's still plenty more to go! This chapter even includes not one, but TWO Faramirs! How is this possible? Read on, and find out...

* * *

The morning dawned bright and beautiful, if a little muddy after the previous day's downpour. Faramir found his mood matched the weather, and he actually whistled as he walked. There was still a slight limp to his step, but he barely noticed it anymore. His spirit felt lighter than it had for weeks, even though the next several days promised to be busy ones. With Aragorn and his family getting ready to leave, it was necessary for him to make sure that there was nothing else in Ithilien requiring the king's attention.

His first priority this morning, however, was a different sort of business. Faramir was going to meet Legolas in the elves' library, which had survived the destruction. Many of the elves valued the library more than their homes, so the place was very well-protected. With help from the dwarves, it had been built inside of a large hill, so that the scrolls and books would be safe if a brush fire were to begin nearby. It was a marvelous structure, partially modeled after the palace in Greenwood. During the day it received enough natural light to read by and fresh air from a venting system that ran through the hillside. Faramir was sure that it extended much farther than he had seen, although he had seen a great deal of it since Legolas had invited him to enter the library at any time.

The two guards at the main entrance, a large door built into the hill, smiled at Faramir as he approached. "Good morrow, my lord," said the one to the left. "It is good to see you back here again."

"It's good to have this place to return to," Faramir replied.

"Have no fear, the library would be a difficult place to vandalize. I doubt our enemies even knew it was here," the guard smiled.

Looking at the door, Faramir had to agree; it was the same color as the dirt on the hill, and covered with leaves and sticks so that it blended in with the earth. "Has Lord Legolas arrived yet? I am not entirely sure where I am supposed to meet with him."

This time, the guard on the right spoke. "He has, my lord, and he asks for you to join him in one of the smaller studies, the third door from the front on your left."

"My thanks," said Faramir. He made his way inside, through the front entrance hall where he wiped his boots, and into the main room of the library. The main room followed the basic shape of the hill, forming a large, open, oval. Shelves lined the walls and filled the room, with tables, chairs, and lamps in between them. Several elves were scattered throughout the large room, some wearing the deep purple sashes around their waists that marked them as librarians.

Faramir turned away from this and made his way around to the left, counting the doors. The third one was open, and inside Legolas was sitting at a desk, staring out one of the few actual windows in the library. Faramir smiled; whenever they met in here, Legolas chose a room with a view. "Good morning, Legolas," he called as he went inside, sitting down in the chair next to the elf.

Legolas jumped, and Faramir laughed. It was a rare occasion when he could surprise the elf. A little color rose on Legolas' pale face, and he looked down at the paper sitting in front of him. It was blank, save for the words "My dearest friends" scrawled across the top. Faramir never thought he would use the words 'scrawl' to describe Legolas' handwriting, but this was atrocious penmanship. The letters were uneven, the lines were shaky, and Faramir wondered if the hobbits would even recognize the writing as Legolas'. Still, he thought it best not to mention this to Legolas; it was likely that the breaks to his fingers were what had changed the style of the elf's writing.

Legolas gestured to the hobbits' original letter, which lay open between them. "I do not know where to begin!"

"Nor do I," Faramir agreed, staring at the blank parchment which had been set out for his own use. "But what exactly can we say in a situation like this? 'Dear friends, there's been a mistake, we're both alive! Sincerely Faramir and Legolas.'"

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "You're in a fey mood this morning."

"I have reason to be, for my wife is as clever as she is beautiful." Faramir grinned.

"I see," said Legolas. "I would ask what wisdom she gave to you, but I get the impression that words were not involved."

"You know all about human practices, of course." Faramir smirked, remembering their earlier conversation. "But you elves have stranger fetishes, what with your ear…" he stopped himself short, and Legolas' face drained of any color. "Ah, forgive me! I did not think," Faramir exclaimed. Legolas waved away the need for apology with his hand, but his face remained drawn. There was something more to the elf's demeanor than an ill-timed comment. He stared out the window, but it seemed to the steward that he was looking much farther away than the trees. "What troubles you so, my friend?"

Legolas was silent for another moment, and when he did speak his voice was so soft Faramir had to lean closer in order to hear him. "I am afraid."

"So am I," Faramir replied. He tried to recall his wife's words, but came up with another's instead. "But to let that fear drive us to destroy what hope we have, that is madness."*

Legolas looked at him sharply. "Those words sound strange on your tongue."

Faramir shrugged, "It is something my brother said often to the younger soldiers before a battle. What I mean by it is, you should not let your fear put such a shadow over you, and all that you are working for here in Ithilien."

"Ithilien will be fine with or without me," said Legolas. "You know that it is only a temporary home for me, and for all of my people. The world will change around us, but we will never change with it."

"Now you are the one who sounds strange!" cried Faramir. "Those words belong to Gwarod."

Legolas' eyes narrowed. "Were you another man, I would make you regret that."

"Were I another man, I would have had the wisdom to hold my piece. But because I am your friend, and because I alone can understand just what that name means to you, I would have you know who you sound like," said Faramir. "Gwarod is dead, you and I saw to that. Let his ideas and deeds rot with him."

"His deeds cannot be undone!" Legolas gestured to the headband he wore, and held up his hands. "Look at me, look at my people! It is true, I have suffered before at the hands of orcs, but they dealt me wounds from which I could heal."

"You will heal from these," Faramir replied. He was confused; through all of this, Legolas had never appeared quite so upset.

Legolas sighed. "I do not know if I can. The power of the elves is leaving this world, and when I try to rest so that I may heal faster, I can no longer find peace under the trees. In my dreams, I see Ithilien and Greenwood burn! So I let my mind wander. There is only one place it will rest, and I dare not let it stay there for long."

Suddenly Faramir understood. "The sea. The elves who were captured with us are going to cross the sea!"

Legolas looked away. "Yes, they are."

"You plan to go with them."

Miserably, Legolas sighed. "Yes. I have already argued about it with my father, and I am sorry I brought my sorrows to you. I was going to tell you all later tonight; I wanted to talk to a few others first, about logistical matters."

A sob that did not come from Faramir's lips made both turn to the open doorway. Eldarion stood there, frozen for a moment with a look of horror on his face. Then he fled. Legolas and Faramir bolted out of the room, nearly colliding with one of the librarians. Legolas swore. "How did he get there?"

The librarian bowed low. "I am sorry, my lords, he asked to see you! If I had known you did not wish…"

Faramir shook his head. "Nay, it is my fault. I should have shut the door, at the very least!"

"I should never have said anything," Legolas sighed. "It's my fault."

"It is too late now; wherever he is going, I doubt we can catch him," said Faramir.

"Maybe not, but I pray I can stop him from telling anyone else what he's heard!" The elf ran out of the library, Faramir following at a more hindered pace.

**XXX**

Arwen shook her head as she walked along the hall, peeking into open rooms as she went and pausing to listen at the closed ones. She had managed to dismiss all but one particularly stealthy guard, after explaining to them that such a large group would be rather conspicuous and their noise would warn away a certain prince who wished to avoid his mother. They had been sent off to search for the prince on their own, in other likely areas. Arwen herself decided to make for the dining hall, assuming that Eldarion would need to come and eat eventually. Like any teenager, human or elf, he was always interested in a snack.

Although disappointed by the lack of her son's appearance once she reached the main dining hall, she did find the other boy she was looking for. Since there were few others present, she had no need to observe proper decorum of a conversation between a queen and her king, either. "Aragorn!"

The man looked up from his plate, and Arwen was pleased to see him shrink back slightly. To either side of him, her brothers smirked, and she could see Gimli's back shaking with laughter. "Yes, meleth?"

One hand on her hip, Arwen fixed her husband with a glare. "Has your son been in here?"

Aragorn eased, apparently relieved that he was not the focus of her ire. "No, I haven't seen him at all today. I thought he was with you, packing up?"

"He was," Arwen growled. "I left the tent for two minutes to speak with one of the healers, and he was gone! The little scamp told the guards I said he was allowed to take a break. We hadn't been working for fifteen minutes! Break indeed; when I find him…"

"Ah, let him be," said Elladan. "You don't need to start packing yet. You'll be here for at least two more days, and you cannot possibly have brought _that _much with you."

Arwen crossed her arms. "We didn't. But, as I am sure you are well aware, little boys with broken arms receive a great many presents. Many of them from uncles who are far too generous, and perfectly willing to hide their nephew when he is in trouble. Have _you _seen him?"

Elrohir leaned back in his chair, balancing it on the back legs. "We are not hiding him, if that is what you mean to imply."

"Not this time, anyway," said Elladan over his cup.

Exasperated, Arwen turned to the dwarf, who would deny nothing to the granddaughter of Galadriel. "Have you seen him, Gimli?"

"I am sorry, but I have not," he replied sincerely. "As far as I know, Kirin has not either. Hmpf, Kirin has not seen anyone this morning! I'm letting the lad sleep."

"Perhaps he went looking for Legolas and Faramir," Aragorn suggested. "He knew they were going to meet in the library. Faramir was with us when he received the message from Legolas this morning, about replying to the hobbits' letter."

Arwen let her hands fall to her sides. "You might be right. Well, the library is as good a place as any for him; he needs to write letters of thanks for those gifts." Arwen turned to leave along with her guard, but paused when she recalled why she had come to talk to her husband in her first place. "And Aragorn," she called over her shoulder.

"Yes, meleth?"

"Eldarion is not the only one who is supposed to be packing. Unless you are discussing matters of state over your eggs, I do hope you will be joining us soon."

Arwen could hear the wince in Aragorn's voice, even over the laughter of the others. "Of course, meleth."

Intent on making the appropriately casual exit, Arwen walked back down the aisle between the tables. But before she could reach the door, a body flew into her arms. She blinked, realizing when the guard did not attack that it was Eldarion who was gripping her shoulders. But something was wrong, and all intention to scold him died. He was jabbering at her intelligibly, something about the guards told him he would find her here and that something was terribly wrong and she had to fix it. She pulled Eldarion to a seat at the nearest table.

"Slow down, Dari, it's alright. Just tell me what happened." Eldarion looked up, then furiously wiped at wet eyes. Arwen turned her head to see the others running toward them, the guards remaining at a respectful at distance, but clearly ready to follow any orders concerning whatever had upset their prince.

Aragorn took a seat on Eldarion's other side, with the twins and Gimli behind them. "Did someone hurt you? Is Ithilien in danger?"

Eldarion shook his head. "It's Legolas," he blurted out. "I heard him tell Faramir that he was leaving us! He's going to sail!"

"What?" Gimli shouted.

Aragorn held up a hand to calm the dwarf momentarily. "Hold a moment, let's not jump to conclusions."

"That's right," said Arwen, rubbing gentle circles into her son's back, "you might have misheard."

Eldarion scowled. "My ears are better than anyone's! I know what they said, I'm sure of it!"

Aragorn chuckled. "You may have your mother's ears, but it is possible that you misunderstood the meaning behind the words. That is the danger of eavesdropping."

Eldarion's eyes widened and he faced his father. "How did you…"

"Parents know everything," Aragorn replied with a wink in Arwen's direction. But she could see the seed of doubt behind his eyes; he was trying to convince himself as well as Eldarion that Legolas would not, _could_ not be planning to sail. "You would not have come rushing in here if you had been a part of their conversation. Now, did you talk to Legolas about this?"

The prince did not look away, as he had been taught that this suggested a number of negative things to visiting dignitaries and parental units alike, but Arwen could feel him fidget against her hand. "No."

"Well then," said Aragorn, getting to his feet, "we will have to go look for Legolas, and it will be an excellent opportunity to teach you a bit about getting the answers to somewhat impolite questions. After all, we cannot ask about something you were not meant to hear, one way or the other. This is a method that was shown to me by your grandfather, and it is proven to get answers even from the most stubborn of woodelves."

"There will be no need for that."

Arwen looked toward the doorway, where an almost ill-looking Legolas stood. She frowned, and the grain of doubt in her own heart grew. Seconds later, Faramir skidded to a halt next to Legolas. He took one look at Arwen's face, then turned to Legolas. "Too late?"

The elf nodded. "Too late."

**XXX**

Gimli stepped forward, crossing both arms over his chest. "Too late? What's that supposed to mean?" Aragorn felt his blood move with every pump of his heart, and his joking smile fell.

"Many things, my old friend," answered Legolas tiredly. He drew himself up and stepped into the dining hall, stopping in front of Eldarion, who was already close to even with Legolas' height. "I am sorry if we upset you, but you were not meant to hear what was said. Not like that."

"But was it true, Uncle Las?" asked the prince.

Legolas stepped back slightly, addressing the group at large. "There are still details that need to be worked out, but yes. I mean to travel to Lindon with the others, and there board a ship that will take us to Valinor."

For a moment, Aragorn could not quite comprehend. "But mellon nîn, once you set sail for Valinor, you cannot come back."

"I know. I do not intend to." Their eyes met, and Aragorn felt as though a cold stone had dropped into the pit of his stomach. Legolas was serious, then. Aragorn couldn't speak.

Gimli exploded. "You ungrateful, cold-hearted brat! I drag myself and my nephew all the way over here to save your life, and you just want to throw that away?"

Legolas sighed. "I was afraid you would react like that."

"Did you expect us to take this news well?" Elladan growled. "To see you off to the ships, while we stayed behind and watched you sail away?"

Legolas tensed and his eyes narrowed. "You, I thought, would understand."

"Why, because we have already watched both of our parents sail away?" Elrohir snarled.

"No, because you are planning to sail away yourselves!"

Elladan pushed Gimli aside and pointed one finger into Legolas' chest. "We will not be leaving anyone behind! We are not leaving until…augh!" He threw up his hands. "Oh yes, Legolas, we understand perfectly well. You always did run away when bad things happened!"

"What are you talking about?"

Elrohir joined his brother. "All those times you came to Imladris on your own? It was always because something had gone wrong at home, and you didn't want to deal with it! Well we should have been expecting this. Things went very wrong, and this time you're running as far away as you can!"

"I am not running away," said Legolas.

Eldarion stood suddenly, knocking away his mother's hands. "Then why are you leaving? You're abandoning us!"

Legolas backed away, looking very much like a cornered animal. "I am not abandoning you."

Gimli bellowed, "You are! You promised me that you would stay here, stay until the day I took my very last breath! Was that a lie? What else have you lied about?"

"You told us we would sail together. Clearly that isn't happening," said Elladan.

"I…I…" Legolas looked frantically around him. The twins and Gimli were furious, Eldarion was indignant, Faramir looked disappointed, and even Arwen could not hide her distress. At last Legolas' gaze landed on Aragorn, still staring as if he had been frozen to the spot, a look of the deepest hurt on his face.

"Why?" Aragorn croaked at last. Legolas shut his eyes, and his hands clenched at his sides. "I understand that you would wish to leave Ithilien, and maybe never return here, but to leave Middle Earth entirely? Why can't you just go stay in Greenwood, or Rivendell? I swear, an incident like this will never happen again."

Gimli opened his mouth to speak, but Legolas held up a hand and opened his eyes. "No, listen. My father, too, wondered why I could not simply return with him, or find peace in a place like Imladris or Lindon. But how could I find peace, how could anyone heal, in a dying kingdom?" Elladan and Elrohir looked at one another, then at the floor. The tension in their bodies faded to limp dejection.

"I cannot heal here, because I can no longer change as the world does. I hear nothing but the song of the sea, and I feel that I will become but a haunting of myself if I remain for much longer. Like it or not, I am leaving. This is where my part in the story ends." Without waiting for any more protests, Legolas left them.

"Fine, go!" Gimli yelled after him, shaking his fists. "You might still be alive, but you're as good as dead to us over there! Ya damn foolish, flighty creature! I was right from the beginning! Never trust an elf!"

Aragorn shook himself, finally freed from the stupor Legolas' announcement had set him in. He walked forward and pulled on the dwarf's shoulder. "Gimli, peace. I think you are causing pain for more than just Legolas with those words."

Gimli twisted the ends of his beard. "Ah, yes, well, there is a difference between silly woodelves and Noldo after all. What I meant was…"

"It's alright, we know," said Arwen. She took a deep breath, looking remarkably composed.

"_As always_,_"_ thought Aragorn. The twins, on the other hand, looked terribly shaken, and Aragorn felt the need to voice his concern. "I have seldom seen you so angry with Legolas."

Elladan made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded close to a growl. "I am not sure how you can be so calm. We save his life, and he throws that away? He's leaving us, Aragorn, over a few scars and the minor chords of a gull."

Arwen's eyes narrowed. "Is this about nana?"

Anyone else would have found themselves at the twins' mercy for the mere mention of Celebrían, but Arwen received little more than a pair of glares and a resounding, "No!" from both.

"Then what?" asked Arwen.

The twins looked at one another, small changes to their expressions indicating a mental argument. At last, Elladan gestured sarcastically for Elrohir to speak. "It is not our place to tell you," said the younger twin, "but _I_ think you should know. Lord Celeborn informed us just before we left for Minas Tirith that it would be the last time he would watch over Imladris for us. He intends to sail."

"Can you lay the blame at his feet?" asked Arwen. "All of his family, save for us, resides in Valinor now, and he is surely weary."

"He has earned his peace," Elladan admitted.

"And Legolas has not?" Arwen's words made the group pause. "He may be young for an elf, but in the age of men he is very, very old. I think the sea longing, and his worry for us, has aged him faster than most."

Then Aragorn's own voice came floating back to him: _"They would not have been able to continue as they once had, and _e_ven if he had survived Legolas probably would have sailed immediately."_ Had he not said as much to Gimli, when he still believed both Legolas and Faramir to have poisoned themselves? With a sigh that came from his soul, he took his wife's hand. "Perhaps this is the way things were meant to be. He and the others can leave with Lord Celeborn, and I am sure there will be a great welcome for them when they reach the shores of Valinor."

Eldarion crossed his arms. "Things are just fine right here, with us! Didn't he promise you and Uncle Gimli that he would stay until…until you died?"

"Yes, but there are some promises that can't be kept, Dari, like the man who swears to his family that he will never die." Aragorn smiled wistfully. "I do remember the night he promised to stay. It was two days before my coronation."

"Aye," said Gimli. "You were nervous as a rabbit caught in a snare! We were trying to calm you down."

This statement seemed to appease Eldarion. "You were nervous?"

"Of course!" Aragorn replied. "Give me a horde of orcs any day over a crowd of people who depend on my every action. Gimli and Legolas tried to take my mind off of that by talking about our adventures, which naturally meant they argued about every little detail of our journey. But Legolas often became distracted from our conversation. At that time, he was still very much under the spell of the sea, because it was new to him. I finally asked him outright if he intended to sail once things had settled down. He did not hesitate to tell me no, and then he promised Gimli and I that he would remain until the last member of the Fellowship was dead. I was certain he had come to that decision before I asked."

Gimli smiled a little. "I think I know when he did, or at least when he began to consider it. Legolas and I went to see Merry and Pippin after the battle at the fields of Pelennor, and we got to talking. Legolas spoke some of the gulls and the sea-longing, and I think it upset the hobbits to hear him talk like that. Merry told him that he must not go to the Havens, for our sakes, and Legolas seemed to take that to heart."**

"Ah!" Faramir exclaimed and smacked his forehead. "I must write to the hobbits! I feel badly that they still believe us to be dead; they have such large hearts for such little people."

"And large appetites!" Gimli laughed. "Aragorn, if they are to visit Minas Tirith, you had best stock your kitchens well!"

Aragorn nodded. "Some things never change."

Faramir blinked. "What did you say?"

"You mean 'some things never change'?" Aragorn frowned. "It's just an expression, I didn't mean anything by it."

"No, I didn't mean to imply you had. But it makes me think – what is the one place in all Middle Earth that never changes?" asked the steward.

"What?" said Aragorn.

Gimli's eyes suddenly lit up. "The Shire!"

"Yes." Faramir smiled. "All Legolas can talk about anymore is how the world is changing and he can't. As I hear it, even after half the Shire was burnt to the ground, they rebuilt it almost exactly the way it always has been – with a few contributions from Lady Galadriel. Maybe if Legolas saw that, he would not feel so out of place."

"And if the hobbits really were what made Legolas consider staying in the first place…" Elladan began.

"…they might be able to do it again!" Elrohir exclaimed.

Ever level-headed, Arwen slowed them down. "We still have to find a way to get him to the Shire."

"That won't be too difficult," said Aragorn. "Surely he will want to say goodbye to the hobbits, and the Shire is on the way to the Havens anyway."

Eldarion grinned. "Uncle Faramir, you're brilliant!"

"That's nice of you to say, Dari, but please don't get your hopes up too high. This might not work," Faramir said gently.

Elrohir frowned, "Aye. It is said that once an elf truly feels it is time for them to sail, there is nothing in Middle Earth that will keep them back."

There was a sad silence for a moment, but Gimli quickly shook himself and started for the exit. "Well then! What are we waiting for? I suppose I should go apologize to the lad, and I might as well suggest a trip to the Shire while I am there." He stopped in the middle of the hallway. "If he thinks we're up to something, he might not go. A curse on the stiff necks of elves!"

That brought a smile back to many faces. "Of course," said Aragorn, turning so that he could see all of them, including the guards. "The only thing you heard of this is that Lord Faramir suggested a trip to the Shire to visit our old friends."

The others nodded, and Gimli stalked off to find Legolas and strongly recommend a side-trip to the Shire.

Arwen held onto her son's shoulders and looked at him carefully. "Whatever he chooses, you must remember that we will not know until it is too late. We will all have to come to terms with the idea that Legolas may actually sail, and treat everything as though he is going to leave forever."

**XXX**

"Look ma! Look, look!" a small, curly-haired child exclaimed. He jumped up and down as he tugged on his mother's green skirt and pointed towards the white fence that surrounded Bag End.

Diamond looked, and was startled to see a very large, dangerous looking bird sitting on the Gamgee's fence post. She stopped walking and pulled her son tight against her. "Shush, Faramir. Stay very still and quiet."

"But ma, look! He has a pretty ribbon on his leg, just like the ones on the pigeons Uncle Merry sends over sometimes," Faramir whined.

"What are you waiting for?" called a voice from down the hill. "Go ahead and knock, I'll be right there!"

"Pippin!" hissed Diamond. "Pippin, hurry! There's a vicious-looking bird up here, and it has something on its leg. It must have gotten stuck, and I don't want to go near it!"

Pippin forgot how heavy the bag he carried was and ran the rest of the way up the hill, one hand on his belt before he remembered that these days he didn't carry a sword, or even a knife. He first caught sight of his terrified wife and six-year-old son – well, he couldn't really tell if his son was scared or not, since Diamond had his face pressed against her hip. Diamond pointed to the fence, and Pippin whirled in that direction. Then he laughed. "Well now! It seems we've arrived just in time for the post!"

"The what?" said Diamond.

Pippin grinned back at her. "It's alright, Di! It's just a messenger hawk. They're tame, like Merry's pigeons, but they can fly much farther."

Diamond released her son, who immediately held out pudgy fingers toward the hawk. "Birdie!"

"Not quite that tame," said Pippin. He patted Faramir's head.

Diamond picked him up before the child could grab any feathers. "I wonder where he's from." She looked curiously at the bird's leg, not willing to get close enough to find out.

"Gondor, probably," Pippin shrugged. "Oh! I know what this is. It's probably from Stri – I mean King Elessar. We asked him to send us a message, so that we would know when he was sending someone to take us to Ithilien so we…so we could…" He sniffed.

Diamond put her hand on Pippin's shoulder. "I'm sorry, love."

Faramir reached for whatever part of Pippin he could reach, which happened to be his nose, and patted it. "Don't be sad, daddy."

Pippin smiled, and moved his head so he could kiss the palm of Faramir's hand. "Thank you both. I'm alright, really. I suppose we should go knock now, and I'll let Sam know we've got a letter. I really should wait for him and Merry to read it…"

Diamond smirked. "Go ahead, Pip. If it's for all three of you, it'll be a day or so before Merry gets to look at it, anyway. Estella told me they couldn't get up to see the new baby until tomorrow at the earliest."

The hawk held out its leg obediently, and Pippin found a pouch was attached. He promised the hawk a snack, courtesy of the Gamgees, and eagerly reached inside. He pulled out a series of folded letters, all addressed to "Mayor Samwise Gamgee, Master Meriadoc Brandybuck, and Thain Peregrin Took I." As he skimmed over the first one, his eyes widened. "Impossible!"

"What is it?" asked Diamond.

He shook his head. "I don't think I can explain it! Come on, I have to show this to Sam. Unless I'm mistaken, this says that Legolas and Faramir are alive!"

* * *

*One of Boromir's infamous lines from _Fellowship_, movie

**In the book, Merry says, "You must not go to the Havens, Legolas. There will always be some folk big or little, and even a few wise dwarves like Gimli, who need you." – ROTK, The Last Debate.


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

Wow, thanks so much for all your reviews! I love getting feedback, and I am going to take your advice and include some of the other elves - just not yet. It fits very well into the next chapter :-). On the downside, the semester has started up again and I am really, ridiculously busy, so updates may end up being few and far between. Ah, well, c'est la vie. Enjoy!

* * *

Eowyn quietly pushed open the door to one of the guest rooms, and couldn't help joining in with the laughter of the room's occupants. Faelwen and Elboron had tackled Legolas to the bed, and were mercilessly ticking the elf. He struggled half-heartedly to get them off, and for the first time during his visit, Legolas looked truly happy. Eowyn would have liked to let their game continue, but it was getting late and her children should have been in bed an hour ago.

"Alright you three, settle down," she said, catching Faelwen around the waist and scooping her up. "It's bedtime."

"Aw, mom!" both whined.

Elboron looked at Legolas, who was leaning back on his elbows since his legs were still trapped under the boy. "Don't you want us to stay up and play with you some more?"

Legolas smiled, then let out an exaggerated yawn. "Oh, I would love to, but I'm just so tired now! I think you have tickled all the energy out of me."

"Daddy said that elves don't get tired," Elboron declared.

"Did he now?" said Legolas. "Well, it's true that we don't sleep the way humans do, but we certainly get tired. But, I do think I have enough energy left for a story, _if_ you two are in bed before I'm too tired to tell it!"

Elboron immediately got off the bed and started running for his room, while Faelwen settled into her mother's arms. Eowyn decided not to remind her son that he usually considered himself much too old for bedtime stories; stories told by an elf were always special. Besides, this was likely to be the last story Legolas ever told them.

Far more quickly than usual, both Eowyn's children were nestled in Elboron's bed. Legolas had settled himself at the bottom of the bed, with his legs crossed underneath him, and Eowyn sat in a chair nearby. She wanted to hear Legolas' story, too.

Before he could begin, Faelwen crawled out from under the covers and curled up against the elf. Elboron's jealousy and need to prove himself an adult warred briefly, but his wish to get closer to the elf eventually won out, and he joined them at the foot of his bed. Legolas laughed. "Why don't we all move back up to the pillows, and get under the covers? It's a cool evening; spring has only just begun, after all."

The trio maneuvered back under the covers at the top of the bed, with Legolas in the middle and Eowyn smiling to one side. Faelwen looked up at Legolas with wide grey eyes. "Do you have ta go away forever, Leg'las?"

Legolas seemed struck for a moment, and he let one hand run through the child's golden hair. "Yes," he said at last.

"Why?" she asked.

Legolas sighed. "It's difficult to explain. You remember how I told you that elves do get tired, even though we don't really sleep?" The children nodded. "Well, sometimes an elf gets very, very tired, so tired that they can't stay in Middle Earth anymore, or they could get sick."

"But elves don't–" Elboron started.

"Yes, I know that. But just like you don't feel well when you don't get enough rest, we can get sick that way, too. We start to feel sad, and that sadness can get to be so terrible that our bodies shut down."

Elboron made a face. "That doesn't make any sense."

Eowyn made an attempt to salvage the evening. "Why don't you let Legolas tell us his story? You'll have time to say goodbye in the morning, I promise to wake you."

When the children grudgingly settled down, Legolas began. "Once upon a time there was a little boy, who was given a toy soldier made by his father, the carpenter. The little boy loved the toy soldier very much, and played with him all the time. Sometimes parts of the soldier were broken during the boy's games, but the carpenter always put the toy back together so that the boy could keep playing with him."

"Jus' like daddy!" exclaimed Faelwen.

Legolas smiled, "Yes. But one day, when the toy soldier was many years old, some mean children took the soldier from the little boy. They threw him out a window onto the stone streets, and broke him very badly. The little boy was very sad, and he took the soldier to his father and asked him to fix it. The carpenter tried his best to put the toy soldier back together, but it could not be repaired quite as well as before. The carpenter sat down with his son and told him that because the toy soldier was so very old, and because it had been broken so many times already, he could not fix it. But because the boy loved the toy so much, the carpenter promised to put him in a safe place where the boy could keep him forever, instead of just throwing him away like the boy's other broken toys. This made the toy soldier very sad, because he knew that one day, when the little boy stopped being so little, he would forget all about his friend the soldier."

"That's a very sad story, Uncle Las," said Elboron.

"Ah, but it has a happy ending." Legolas continued, "You see, soon the boy met a traveling tinker, who, the boy had heard, was able to fix almost anything as good as new. He took his toy soldier to the tinker and asked him to fix it, but he had no money to pay for the repairs. The tinker took pity on the boy, and said that he would be able to fix the toy soldier, for he had many other toys like it in his own home. But in order to fix it, the tinker had to take the toy soldier with him back home, where he had just the right tools for repairing toy soldiers. He promised the boy there were lots of other toys there, and that the toy soldier would be happy and well cared for. Although the little boy was sad to part with the toy soldier, he let the tinker take him because he cared about the toy soldier so much. The toy soldier was also sad to leave his friend, but when he reached the tinker's shop he was greeted by many, many other toys, who helped him to feel happy again. The tinker did fix the toy soldier, but it was a very long time before he could return to the city where the boy lived. By the time the tinker did return, the boy had grown up, and he did not need the toy soldier anymore. So the boy decided to let the soldier stay with the tinker and the other toys who could take care of the soldier forever."

"Did they live happily ever after?" asked Faelwen with a wide yawn.

"They did," Legolas promised.

"Good," mumbled the child.

Legolas carefully sat up and maneuvered Faelwen into his arms. "I think it's time we got you into bed, princess." Eowyn stood up and reached for her daughter, but Legolas easily slipped out of the bed while still carrying her. "I'll take her."

"Thank you." Eowyn kissed Faelwen goodnight, then let Legolas take her into the next room. She leaned over the bed and kissed Elboron's forehead. "Sweet dreams, my heart."

Elboron blinked sleepily back. "G'night, mom."

Eowyn blew out the last of the candles and closed the door behind her, meeting Legolas as he came out of Faelwen's room. "She fell right to sleep," he said.

"I thought she might," Eowyn replied. "Would you like to share some wine? Faramir said he would meet us in the main sitting room."

With a nod from Legolas, the two continued on to the cozy room, where Faramir was waiting for them in front of a roaring fireplace. The three spent the evening talking, mostly of happy times shared in Ithilien, or of Minas Tirith in the months after Aragorn was crowned. "Do you remember the mutt that followed Pippin around?" Faramir laughed.

"Of course! He tried so hard to clean it up and train it, but it still left its mark in some rather unfortunate places around the citadel," Legolas replied.

"Whatever happened to it?" asked Eowyn.

"Pippin took her back with him," said Faramir. "She had a good, long life in the Shire, before she died about a year ago. I believe she left something of a legacy behind. Pippin mentioned puppies in a few of his letters, and I know he gave at least one of them to Sam's children."

Eowyn shook her head. "I wonder at the energy he and his wife must have. How many children are they up to now?"

"Eight…no, it must be nine!" exclaimed Legolas. "They said Rosie was pregnant again in the last letter I received, and that was at least nine months ago."

"Ah, I wish we could see them!" sighed Eowyn.

"Are you sure you can't come with me to the Shire?" asked Legolas.

Eowyn shook her head. "Faelwen is too young, and I promised Eomer I would be there when Lothíriel has their new baby."

"And my Uncle Imrahil has finally found a moment to come away from Dol Amroth. Since he has not seen me since my supposed death, I must be here to greet him. He meant to come as soon as Aragorn sent that first letter, but there was a terrible storm off the coast. Thankfully no one was killed, but there was a great deal of damage. He has had nearly as many problems cleaning up after that storm as we have had rebuilding Ithilien," said Faramir.

"I remember Prince Imrahil," said Legolas. "He seemed a noble man, and I would have liked to meet him again."

Eowyn smiled, but her eyes were sad. "Are you sure you do not wish to stay with us a little longer? In Eymn Arnen, I mean."

Legolas shook his head. "I cannot. I might suffer staying in Ithilien for another year, to see the repairs completed, but there are others who cannot wait. Not if we are going to stop in Greenwood _and_ Rivendell."

"And the Shire," added Faramir.

"That is a trip Gimli and I will make alone. We do not wish to overwhelm the perrianath," Legolas explained. "I am sure they have had quite enough of dwarves, elves, and _especially_ meddlesome wizards."

"I miss Gandalf," Faramir said wistfully. "Frodo, too, though I barely knew him."

"Now we will miss you as well." Eowyn went around the small table between them and hugged Legolas tightly. "I wish you would stay."

"I wish I could," Legolas whispered.

Faramir came around on the other side, and briefly joined the hug. "Know that you will be dearly missed, then, and always our friend. I hope you find your happiness again, Legolas."

"Thank you, both of you. I pray Manwe blesses you and all your heirs with long, healthy lives, and the peace you deserve," Legolas replied.

Then they separated for the night, and early the next morning Legolas rode away on Arod after sharing a final good-bye with Faramir, Eowyn, and their children. He left gifts for each of them, and they in turn gave him things to carry across the sea. Among these were a series of portraits done by Faelwen, and Legolas had sworn that the one of Arwen would reach Lord Elrond.

**XXX**

One grey morning, some three days after Legolas' return from Emyn Arnen, found him again mounted on Arod and ready to leave. Just a few bags were slung over the saddle. What possessions Legolas did intend to bring with him to Valinor were packed away in a wagon. The going would be slow, with some forty elves traveling together, and most of them suffering from grief. Ten extra warriors were going along with them until they reached Osgiliath, where Gondor's king had promised to meet them for the last time, and to provide them with soldiers. They had horses and carriages, and wagons filled with supplies for the long journey and for whatever came after.

Rumíl and Orophin stood on either side of Arod, gently stroking his neck as they said their good-byes to Legolas. "Take good care of Ithilien," said Legolas. Having talked things over with Faramir and Aragorn, they had agreed to make the brothers Legolas' successors as princes of Ithilien.

"We will," Orophin promised, "as long as there are elves who remain."

"Would that I were one of them," Legolas whispered. Then he tried to brighten. "But the day when we will meet again is not so far off."

"No, not by the reckoning of elves," said Rumíl. "We will miss your presence here all the same. Safe journey, Legolas; may your road, over earth and over sea, be blessed."

"Thank you, my friends, and may the Valar keep you."

Orophin smiled, "Tell Lord Celeborn we still think he's a stuck-up old fox."

"Aye," Rumíl added, "and ask him if he'll finally take the stick out of his ass once he gets to Valinor. It's been there since the second age, at the least."

"I am not going to say that!" Legolas hissed. "You two may have pestered him for an age, but I have only met him a few times and I doubt very much he will find it very funny coming from me."

Orophin sniggered. "He never found it all that amusing coming from us, either. I suppose he does still think of you as one of our more respectable friends. Ah well, when next we meet…"

Legolas shook his head. "When next we meet. Farewell, my friends."

"Farewell, Legolas." They squeezed his hands, patted Arod's sides, then stepped back with the other elves who were remaining behind. Legolas surveyed the company he was to lead. It was a sorry one indeed, filled with sad, tired faces and cloaked figures hunched over horses or seated in carriages. It was time they set out; the elves had a long journey ahead, and it was already set to be interrupted a number of times before they reached the Havens.

"Hathel," Legolas called.

The auburn-haired elf turned in his saddle. "Yes my lord?"

"Is everything ready?"

Hathel nodded. "The roads are clear, and all our company is prepared to leave."

Legolas took a deep breath. "Let's go, then."

"Move out!" Hathel called to his warriors, who were positioned around the civilians, and encouraged his horse to start moving. Arod needed no command to follow, and soon enough the last of the warriors disappeared around the first curve in the trail, leaving Orophin, Rumíl, and the other elves to stare after their Valinor-bound kin.

**XXX**

Eldarion sat in the window of one of Eastern Osgiliath's higher towers, overlooking the river Anduin and the boats that traveled along it once again. Faramir had worked tirelessly to restore his brother's favorite city, and it flourished as a port city for merchants and visitors. The great, high bridge between the eastern and western halves of the city had less traffic than the river, but it was the easiest crossing for anyone from Ithilien who wished to gain the eastern bank of Anduin, and so it was there the prince set his sights.

Eldarion could scarcely believe there had been a time not so long ago when the bridge lay in rubble. He knew his history, and he knew that it had also once been the capital city, yet it was difficult for him to imagine Osgiliath as anything but what he saw now. He had been born a full year after the war; he had only vague memories of the reconstruction of Osgiliath, and none at all of the haunted place it had once been. His mother still sometimes spoke of the stench of death that had pervaded Osgiliath on her first visit. She had refused to return while she was pregnant, and for several years after while Eldarion was a baby. Even now there were few children in Osgiliath, and most of these belonged to foreign folks who were only passing through.

But if the city's history was indeed as black as his elders painted it, Eldarion could think of no better place to see Legolas for the last time. Certainly there was the chance that the Shire-folk might change his uncle's mind, but his parents had warned him not to get his hopes up. His heart ached just to think of Legolas leaving forever, and he wondered at how his parents must hurt that much more, especially his father.

Suddenly, he noted a change in the traffic flow on the great bridge. People at the western end had all turned and parted to one side, and more were gathering along the edges and whispering to one another. With his mother's elven sight, he could just espy a large group making their way to the bridge. Many wore cloaks and hoods, but their nature was unmistakable: so very fair, but so very sad. There was a power that emanated from them, one born of the grief a thousand mortal lifetimes, and the people of Osgiliath gave way to it. They bowed their heads, and by the time the first horse reached the edge of the bridge there was a wide, clear path across it. Eldarion felt it, too, and almost wished he could avoid this last meeting. But his duties as a prince forced him to choose otherwise, and he left his perch on the sill to meet the approaching company with his parents.

The meeting was as painful as he had expected it to be, but for once the long, formal greetings were the least of his tortures. There was a sadness in the air that clung to his heart, and made him wonder if he, too, could die of grief like his elven ancestors. There was to be no singing, no joy-filled, graceful elvish dancing at this meeting. This group would stay in Osgiliath only for the night, and depart early the next day, gone with the pre-dawn mist that always rolled off the river and through the city's streets.

He waited patiently while his parents spoke with Legolas, and a few others with whom they were familiar. They no longer tried to convince them to stay, but offered sober blessings for a safe journey and happiness in another world. But Eldarion knew that beneath their royal facades their hearts were breaking, for they could never be a part of that happiness. Legolas did not say much that evening, and Eldarion counted it as one of the longest in his life. There was an awkward, silent meal followed by a fitful night of sleep, filled with the mournful songs that were whispered by the elves who wandered in the night, who would find no rest at all on these shores lest it be in death.

His mother came for him before dawn, and found him already awake, washed, and dressed. They went down together, to say their final goodbyes to the elves. When they reached the courtyard Aragorn and Legolas were gripping one another's shoulders and speaking in hushed elvish. What they said to one another in those final moments, Eldarion never knew, nor wanted to. It was not something to be shared.

He did hear his father's final _"Namárië,"_ carried to all ears by a shift in the wind. It was filled with a hundred years of pain and joy, and a hundred thousand nameless feelings that rushed through the two sworn brothers as they stood together and embraced, on the brink of separating their bond forever. Legolas' reply was the same, and he handed Aragorn an engraved, clear stone on a dwarven-made chain. When Eldarion was allowed to examine the jewel later, he would find a tightly braided lock of golden hair inside the stone – though how it had been placed there only the greatest of craftsmen could know. Legolas kissed Aragorn's forehead, and moved away before the man could find his voice.

In turn he spoke with Arwen, and even managed to make her smile with reference to some tale of near marriage, though whose marriage the prince did not wish to guess. Legolas gave her a green ring in the shape of a leaf, the seal of Eryn Lasgalen, and a letter "to be opened when that time came." Eldarion had no doubts that the time would come only after his father was gone, and he shivered. There was so much death already, and Legolas leaving was just as bad.

At last, Legolas turned his eyes on the young prince. Eldarion thought they looked different now – they were more grey than blue, and so sad. Eldarion could not help himself. "Must you go, uncle?"

Legolas smiled sadly, "Aye. But I have a gift for you that may make the parting easier." From behind his back he drew his bow, the one the Lady Galadriel herself had gifted to him during the War of the Ring. Legolas held it out to the gaping Eldarion, who could not believe the elf meant to part with it; he had often heard Gimli declare that Legolas prized it more than all the trees in Middle Earth. "I have never had a student quite so gifted as you, Dari; not even your father. You will make a great archer one day, and archer with an arm strong enough to draw an elven bowstring."

"But…no! I can't take that, it's your bow! The one you used to slay the fell beast and delay the Nazgul!" Eldarion stammered.

Legolas shook his head. "It's _your_ bow now; I will not need it where I am going. But you must remember, it is the archer who makes his bow great, not the other way around. Take care of her for me, won't you?"

With numb fingers and all due reverence, Eldarion accepted the treasure. "Lle hannon, Legolas, I will not fail your trust."

"I do not doubt it," Legolas replied. He considered the prince for a moment. "You will make a very fine king one day, and it saddens me that I will not be here for it."

"Be happy again, Uncle Las," Eldarion replied. "I will feel you here just the same; I will not forget."

Legolas gripped the prince's shoulder. "Ná Elbereth veria le, ná elenath dín síla erin rád o chuil lín." (May Elbereth protect you, may her stars shine on the path of your life.*).

Eldarion reached out and did the same. "Calo anor na ven." (May the sun shine on your road.*)

Then Legolas looked about him, and found most of the elves had assembled, along with Aragorn's soldiers. He squeezed Eldarion's shoulder, then released him entirely and mounted Arod, who was already laden with a new pack of letters and trinkets from Gondor to be taken to Valinor. "If speed is with us, we will meet Gimli at the Entwash in a week, and then we will cross and follow Anduin up to Eryn Lasgalen. We intend to stay for a month, more if our company is able, and then cross over the Mountain Pass to Imladris before the snows begin."

"Will you stay with my brothers for any length?" asked Arwen.

Legolas nodded, "Two weeks, perhaps more. We will leave whenever Lord Celeborn is ready, and take the Great East Road. Gimli and I will stop in the Shire, and we will send the hobbits back here under the protection of your generous guard."

"May the Valar grant you safety and fair weather on your long road, then, and the peace you seek when you come to Valinor," said Aragorn, addressing the elves at large.

A general chorus of fair wishes rang out, and then Legolas turned his horse to face the road. He looked back over his shoulder and whispered, "Goodbye, my dearest of friends." Then he led the elves out of Osgiliath and onto the road that led through Rohan, leaving no further trace behind them.

When Legolas was gone, Eldarion sequestered himself in his room. He ran his fingers over the engravings in the bow, tested its weight, and tried to draw the heavy string. It was perfect, a masterpiece of craftsmanship, but Eldarion knew he could never use it; he could not pull back the string, not with all the strength in his arm, and he dared not risk any damage to it. He could never be the archer who had carried this bow for so long. He held the bow to his chest then, and finally his heavy heart carried him off to sleep until late that afternoon.

* * *

Thanks to / for the translation.


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: Don't own Lotr

Thanks for your reviews! This update has been a long time coming, and while it doesn't move things forward much it does address something a few of you were asking about. I'm afraid life is ridiculous right now, so it will probably be a while before I get the chance to update again. Sorry guys! You will have one before the end of December, that much I can say.

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_It has taken us near a month to reach Eryn Lasgalen, but at last, late yestereve, we arrived. They tried to welcome us with great spirit, but we were weary of soul and much preferred to rest under the trees and stars. They have done wonders to a place that was once called Mirkwood, for the trees live again, and even we who are not of the wood can feel their offers of peace. I have not been here in many an age, and it should bring me joy to return for this place is full of happy memories, despite the darkness that clung to the woods at that time. But now all I feel is the ache of old wounds and the weight of my heart. It is so heavy, and it makes me wonder if I shall last until we reach Valinor. Is there even such a place?_

_I would despair fully were it not for Finmar, who daily calls my soul back from the brink. I do believe I love him, and if that good has come from our captivity then I am grateful for it. I am nearly two thousand years old, and I have never felt like this for any other suitor. Still, it is difficult to be in love when we are so ruined. Perhaps that is why we are together: no other will take us. I saw the way the woodelves stared at us, at the bands we wore about our heads and over our ears. They do not need to see what lies beneath to know. We are tainted._

_Niniel_

_Now that we are in Eryn Lasgalen I cannot help but long for the comfort of my own home in Imladris. Then I see the faces of those whose did once call this forest home, and I wish we did not intend to pass through mine. I am sure it is not quite what they remember, and I am sure there is still a part of them that does not wish to leave. Even Prince Legolas, who insisted most strongly that all of us come, seems more unhappy here than he did in Ithilien. Sometimes I wish Niniel and I had not spoken to him that night by the pond, it upset him so. Perhaps he would have healed in Ithilien otherwise, and lived on in Middle Earth contently for many years yet._

_But I think not. I stand by what I told him; we are not what we once were, and even if the world did not see the terrible state of our bodies, those of us who were there know the real terror is within our own souls. There is something rotting inside me, and there are days when I swear I can smell it and I am surprised sweet Niniel does not recoil from the stench. _

_Ah, Niniel. She is the light in all of this, and in her hair I can still smell the beams of the sun on fresh strawberries. I never told her, but I moved to Ithilien because I wished to follow her. Even though I believed she would never have me, I was half in love with the strawberry lady of Imladris for a long, long time. She worked in the gardens, nearby the fields where I trained to be a warrior. I tried to impress her, but her head was always down among the plants, willing them to grow with her soft hands and lovely voice. In Ithilien I put down my weapons and begged for her tutelage among the flowers. She consented, but I had not the courage to tell her how I felt. I suppose I found it fast enough when those vile yrch threatened to hurt her in the worst of ways. _

_If it were not for the rot in my soul and the melancholy of my mind, I could be content. I will be, and I will marry Niniel when we are well again in Valinor. I must have that hope, or else I shall go mad and fade before we even reach the sea._

_Finmar_

_The trees grieve for us. They are sad we no longer find joy in their growth, and they are sad because they know pieces of us are missing. I have walked among them for two weeks now, and this place still does not feel like home. Even here, miles away from the place where my son breathed his last, I can smell the fire that took him from me. I dare not eat anything but bread and fruit, nor venture toward the kitchens. The slightest stench of cooking meat makes my stomach turn, and I can think only of my lost son. _

_Some of my kin ask me why I do not stay with them, why I do not try to heal. Yet I would ask what reason I have to stay? Lindolen is across the sea waiting for me, and somewhere in the Halls of Mandos on those far shores so do my son, my mother, and many others who have left their bodies behind in Middle Earth. Those relatives who remain are not close in relation or friendship. I am all that is left of my family, and Lindolen has been waiting long enough. I will bring him news of Erinion, and together we shall grieve for our lost child. Then, if the tales be true, we will find hope in our sorrows and be happy together. Together; it has been so long, perhaps three hundred years, since I last saw my husband. Yes, I can wait. I can say good-bye to this place I lived in once, and then I will go to Lindolen and know no grief or regret. _

_Himiel_

_Why is it that we elves sing so often? We sing for joys and sorrows and life and death, in a never ending chorus. There was a time not so long ago when I loved this, when I raised my voice with all the others no matter the occasion. But now I want nothing more than to beg these woodelves for silence. Their songs create such a terrible ringing in my ears. I feel as though a thousand arrows were piercing my brain, and the music follows wherever I go._

_Perhaps it is my own voice that follows me. I feel I must sing my own sorrows or my heart will burst, and I do not even realize when my mouth opens in a lament. What can I do when even my own voice is painful to me?_

_Often I wonder why must we wait for those who wish to linger, for we have remained in Eryn Lasgalen three weeks already. Surely there are others who feel as I do. I've no wish to say good-bye, no wish to remain any longer in these wretched woods. They are not my home anymore; there is not a place in this Middle Earth that is. This country has lost its love for us, and I for it, and I believe it is high time we all quit it. But the prince is sentimental still, and we follow him like dogs. He even insisted on bringing the _dwarf_ with us. Lord Gimli did much during the war, that I cannot deny, but as a whole they are an unsavory race. Better than men, of course, who have naught to do now but burn, maim, and murder our wounded people._

_Ah, what do I write? It is that singing that affects me so! Would that all were silent, then I would linger with patience, like the rest of them._

_Lanthiron_

_Henril no longer thinks me beautiful. She tells me this is not so, but I know she lies to spare my feelings. Aye, she may love me yet, but she looks upon me with such pity, such agony. She touches me only when she must, and her kisses are brief. I cannot blame her, for I have seen the way I look these days. I have healed some, yes, but this time the healing has left behind scars, and I cannot take away the look of one who fades._

_She is trying so hard for me, and I know she is not really ready to sail. I have given her leave more than once to remain behind for a time, but she insists that we shall not be parted. Sweetling that she is, she will keep her ugly wife for all eternity. That cheers my soul, and keeps me from falling into the despair some of the others have. Valar bless her! In three days we will leave Eryn Lasgalen, never to return. She loves this forest, and she loved Ithilien too. My heart breaks to see her caress the trees more often than she touches me, not because I am jealous but because I know she will miss them so, and they her. Yes, I will miss our trees as well, but the call of Valinor is stronger. That is where home lies, and only there will I be able to rest. Perhaps there I will be beautiful, too. It is a vain wish, I know, but I want it more for Henril, who deserves the wife she has known these endless years._

_Gildanlim_

_I must find a way to make my star believe she is still the fairest sight to my eyes. Gildanlim has convinced herself that I could not possibly want her now that she is scarred. I care not, and I have told her so! She insists on wearing that head band, as do all the others, to cover her ears. I think the bands do them little good. If they only grew used to the change, they would not find it so repulsive. The scars are not so big as they believe, and there is so much more to an elf's beauty than her (or his) ears. My star, for instance, has hair like the night sky, and eyes brown as the earth. I do not care that her hair is shorter, but I want to take away the haunted look in those eyes._

_Would that it had been I who was taken and tortured! Or better, that we had escaped together. We were separated during the attack, when the horses were released and came running by in terror. Her hand slipped from my grip, and we had to part or be trampled. Then the men took her, and I would have followed to rescue her or die, but in my distraction one of the horses ran into me and I fell back. The men must have thought I was dead, because they left me for my father and brother to find with my head dashed against a rock and my ribs broken. They carried me to Minas Tirith, and there I learned that my wife was among the missing. I have never forced myself to heal so quickly in my life, though I think I had help from my brother – there are times when he is not such a troll. In any case, he did aid my cause in convincing father to let me return to Ithilien with Gondor's army, and I owe him much for that. I did not feel my own wounds at all when I fought the men, not after I saw what they had done to Gildanlim and the others. _

_But this is history, and all know what came next. Our dear prince was dead, then alive, and during the second attack I never let Gildanlim out of my sight. We saw little fighting, for we were with the healers and they whisked many of us away towards the city. My poor star, she should not have been forced to go through so much in so little time! She does not understand that I do not mind leaving tomorrow, or even sooner! My home is with her. I am so afraid to touch her, lest I hurt her unintentionally, for she was badly beaten and I would not have her associate me with any of the memories that keep her from sleep. Valar bless her! I hope she will be happy again in Valinor._

_Henril_

_We are in Imladris now, and then on our way to Valinor. I have heard stories of it since I was a child, sometimes from the Lady Galadriel herself. Perhaps that is why I do not place such great hope in the healing of that place. Surely, if one such as Galadriel left it, it cannot be so grand. But she did speak of it with longing, and her stories were mostly joyous. Besides, I have no other choice; there is nowhere else for me to go. Once a cure could be found, even for the soul, in the depths of Lothlorien or the waters of Imladris. But the great kingdoms of elves are gone, no matter what the Mirkwood King would like to say. Even his son is leaving, and I see how that grieves his people. Who grieves for the rest of us? Kings of Men, Dwarf Lords? Nay, we are pitied and quickly forgotten._

_It is all the same. Middle Earth will fall in the coming years, now that the elves are passing on over the sea. Men are spiteful, disloyal, foolish creatures, and I am sure they will all descend to the level of animals, if not orcs, soon enough. We held off Dol Goldur unnoticed and unaided, then raced to fight their battles, and they repay us with this, this agony? I watched my sister, three friends, and an uncle go off to the aid of Rohan under the leadership of Haldir. Not a single one returned, not even the good captain who my friends held in such great esteem. They remain buried away from their kin, among men, and only that prince of trees was there to sing for them. Now I wish I had gone with them, that I would have seen the atrocious state of mankind and gladly let an orc run me through! Fools, the King of Gondor is one righteous man in thousands. He will surely become corrupt as well, now that he is not beholden to our prince._

_I mean no offense to the prince with my words, he is as good an elf as can be found, and he has taken grave injuries in this finale. But he was my lord for a short time, and I have seen him commit many follies. I cannot blame his open heart for what occurred, but still I wonder why no one acknowledges the fact that he let those men stay with us in Ithilien. They praise him! They cry for him, and he becomes their hero all over again! And the rest of us? We become less than shadows, for we will not be remembered._

_Alphindir_

**XXX**

"Look at them," whispered Elrohir, "it's like they're already dead." He nodded in the direction of a group of seven elves who still sat around the large fire in the main hall. Some sat very still, while others were writing fervently; none dared to look at one another. Two Elrohir recognized as Niniel and Finmar, the ones who had run into Gondor's army as they escaped from Gwarod. Finmar cradled Niniel in his lap, and he occasionally rubbed his thumb over her bare arms. The gesture seemed to go unanswered as Niniel wrote, but the close observer could see that she relaxed a little whenever he did this.

"Aye, most of them are like that – even Legolas. It has been a most depressing journey," Gimli replied.

"Who are they, Gimli? I know Niniel and Finmar, but surely the others have stories as well? I got so caught up in what happened to Legolas, and then with Arwen…well, I suppose I quite forgot there were others who had been hurt."

Gimli eyed Elrohir critically. "It was a terrible time for all involved, lad. Don't blame yourself."

Elrohir smiled. "Save your concerns, good master dwarf, I know this well. But I wish to know of these others; someone must remember them."

"Well then, I'll tell you this is a group of writers. I've seen them meet like this on occasion, they usually pull out half-blank books and spend hours sharing the ink. It's their method of coping, if you will, and I deem it to be a fair one," said Gimli.

"Do you know them?"

"Not very well, but I have heard Legolas speak of them. The lady with dark hair who sits next to Finmar is called Himiel. She speaks not a word I can understand, though I've been told she lost her son during the first attack. Legolas is fond of her, for she was a friend to his mother long ago. To her left, the one with the short gold braid, is Lanthiron. You see how he rubs his ears? I think he was knocked about the head, or cut in such a way that his hearing was affected. He is in constant pain, and I have heard him often complain of noise when there isn't a sound to be heard in all the land," Gimli explained.

"I wonder if I or Elladan could offer assistance. I have seen cases like that in men, and their children are very prone to infections of the inner ear. Perhaps he suffers from something similar?" suggested Elrohir.

Gimli shrugged. "You are welcome to try, lad, but I think he is of the most unpleasant sort. I am sorry for his pain, but he does not seem to think me of the very pleasant sort either. His Sindarin is quite clear, and I know enough of it to understand what he thinks of my people."

"I am sorry to hear there is still such prejudice."

"He is not the only one. You see the one to the far corner, with the silver hair? That is Alphindir."

"From Lothlorien no doubt," Elrohir added.

"He was with us in Ithilien, but I do not know his origins. I do know he holds no love of men. He has reasons for that for which I cannot chastise him, but there is something in the way he looks at Legolas that I do not like. Legolas has said nothing of it, for he claims to know little of this Alphindir, yet I think he feels it."

To Gimli's surprise, Elrohir seemed to take no more offense than Legolas had when Gimli first told him of the elf's accusing stare. "They are looking for someone to blame, now that the men are dead and many of them were ushered away without the chance for vengeance. Who are the other two? They are bonded, I can see that much."

Gimli looked back at the remaining pair: two females, one with long, maple-colored braids and the other with short black hair under an even darker headband. This one had her head pillowed in the other's lap, but they did not look comfortable. "Yes, though I fear that bond has suffered a great deal from all of this. I do not know their history, but I know that one, Gildanlim, was captured, and the other, Henril, was not. Legolas says elven bonds are strong, however, and they will weather whatever it is that currently breaks them apart."

Elrohir nodded. "They will surely be restored in Valinor. All of them will be, so even if Legolas chooses to go with them I will be happy."

"That is a lie, brother, and you know it." Both Gimli and Elrohir looked up when Elladan entered the hall, striding briskly towards them. He threw himself down on a cushioned chair next to his brother and glowered towards the fire.

"What is wrong, Dan?" Elrohir frowned.

"What isn't? It seems as if we are doomed to be the very last of our kind left in Middle Earth! More of our friends are joining them every day. It is as though they can hear the call of the sea in the voices of the elves from Ithilien, and now from Eryn Lasgalen and Imladris as well!"

Elrohir looked at his brother carefully. "And what is it that you hear when you listen to them?"

Elladan met his gaze with some surprise, and then understanding. "Only their pain. Nay, I do not hear the call; I will not forsake you."

"Hmpf!" Gimli crossed his arms. "You elves and all your talk of pain and loneliness; it is no wonder you grieve so often! Why not give your guests a bit of wine and a song? A _cheerful_ one, I mean. I know you have some rather, ah, interesting lyrics to some. Was there not one involving archery practice and someone's backside?"

The twins could not help smiling a little. "I do believe that was one of Legolas' own compositions. For all his skill with a bowstring, he is a rather hopeless musician," said Elrohir.

"Oh? I thought it had rather a nice rhythm to it, and he told me that he learned it while on a visit with the two of you."

Elladan rolled his eyes. "That is because he _stole_ my music, and changed the lyrics! It was meant to be about a celebration of life."

"If I remember correctly, it certainly was," Elrohir chuckled. Then he sighed. "Alas, I do not believe these folks would appreciate such songs now. It is really no use, Gimli; once grief gets a hold of an elf, it lets go for nothing but death."

"Then why are we still trying to pry its fingers away from the princeling?" asked Gimli solemnly.

The twins glanced at one another, then Elrohir gestured to the group around the fire, "We could tell you that these others would have left us soon anyway, for many of them are surely old and have family waiting. We could remind you that Legolas is very young for an elf, and he should be here for some time still, since his friends are still here as well as his father. But these are all excuses. The truth is that we are selfish."

"He is _our_ princeling," said Elladan with an exasperated groan. "Of course I feel badly for these others, but Legolas has been one of our dearest friends since he was a child. He deserves to stay in the world he helped to save a little bit longer, and I think we deserve to keep him."

Gimli grinned. "We are of the same opinion than. I am glad for that. I think he needs us all to be a little selfish if we are going to get him to stay here."

Elladan put a hand on Gimli's shoulder. "Then remind him why he promised to stay in the first place."

"You and the hobbits will have to be crafty," warned Elrohir. "He is very stubborn, and he has a habit of getting his way with the most ridiculous of intentions. Dan and I were the ones who tried hardest to talk him out of going on a quest everyone knew was sure to end in the demise of nearly all who went on it. You know well how that one ended."

"For the better," said Gimli. "Perhaps this will as well."

"Perhaps." Elladan nodded. "Once again, all our hope rests in the hands of the perrianath."


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

So, about that update by December...uh, it's only five days late, right? Sorry guys, I had a hard time keeping this part moving with so many characters, and I'm still not entirely satisfied. There are simply too many Gamgee children! But we're coming towards the end, so it will definitely pick up again; there's only one or two chapters left! Thanks for sticking with me, I really appreciate your reviews! I did like writing about the other elves, and if I ever have the time I might include more about them in a different story. For now, they're very minor characters, and their various sexual orientations are meant to provide more detail for my version of the elves. This isn't a romance, so it really shouldn't matter. I do hope you enjoy this chapter, despite how late it is!

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Looking around him, Gimli could not help a heavy sigh. As of yet, things had not gotten better. If anything they were worse. At least when the soldiers from Gondor had been around there had been a bit more mortal cheer, but they had parted company in Bree so as not to disturb the good folk of the Shire. Those were Aragorn's orders, and Gimli had to agree that the presence of armed big folk was likely to cause trouble for the hobbits. Still, he would miss the soldiers; left alone with a bunch of grieving elves, he was beginning to feel rather depressed himself.

He and Legolas rode next to Lord Celeborn towards the front of the company, although Gimli wished they could move closer to the back, among the elves from Imladris who were not so unhappy. In fact, some were perfectly pleased to be heading for the Havens, and these separated themselves from the rest in order to give their poorer comrades the space and silence they desired. Gimli thought the journey would have been nearly pleasant with them, even if Legolas had still been leaving. But, no matter what, he had sworn to stay by the elf's side throughout the journey, and that was exactly what he intended to do.

"I should not have asked them to stay in Eryn Lasgalen for so long," said Legolas, glancing back at the ill-looking elves of Ithilien.

"Only to force them to wait in Imladris longer? Or to waste away in Lindon? Nay," Celeborn replied, "the ship would not have been ready had we come any sooner, even if you had gone ahead of me."

"Perhaps, but at least then their travels would be nearly done, and the sea could have lulled…their…" here Legolas trailed off, his eyes wandering and his head tilted to one side, listening for something that Gimli, at least, could not hear. This had been happening with an alarming increase in frequency as time went on and they drew nearer to the sea. One minute Legolas would be talking, and then in the middle of his sentence his mind would wander, especially if he spoke of the sea.

"Oy!" Gimli prodded him none-too-gently in the back, vaguely wondering how many bruises he must have caused at this point by repeating the action each time Legolas was caught in this daze. "Come back now lad, and let us talk more of Rivendell."

Legolas blinked and shook his head, then looked down as if surprised to find himself riding a horse. "Are you alright, Legolas?" asked Celeborn calmly.

Legolas shook himself again. "My apologies, Lord Celeborn. I do not know…but yes, Rivendell. Em, what…what was it about Rivendell, Gimli?"

Gimli sighed. "Nothing important, lad. Just wondering if you had enough time to spend with the twins; I know you have been friends for a long time."

"Since I was a child," Legolas agreed. "As for time, well, I suppose it was never enough. But I will see them again one day. Perhaps they will have forgiven me by then."

"I am sure they already have," said Celeborn. "I have heard some men say that 'time heals all wounds,' and we certainly have a surfeit of that."

"I am not so sure all of us do," Legolas mumbled, glancing back at the others. Gimli did not need to look to know what he would see; sick elves, some unable to walk anymore, riding in a wagon, staring out at the world without seeing anything. Those who could walk did so slowly, clinging to one another or the sides of the wagons for support.

Gimli kept his eyes on the road, and so spotted the wooden post that marked the length of the road. "Do not worry so, Legolas. You see there? We are getting closer to the Havens every moment."

"Will it help?" asked Legolas quietly, looking to Celeborn.

Celeborn nodded. "It will buy them some time. The air of the sea will be a boon to their senses, though it will take the power of Valinor to truly restore them. Or so it is said. I have never been there, and so I do not know what will happen when we have gone beyond the sea." Celeborn paused for a moment with a look on his face that Gimli would never forget, nor truly understand. Was it doubt, fear? It made Celeborn look very…_human_.

Gimli cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well! As we have passed that mark, I judge we only have a bit farther to go before Legolas and I part with you for the Shire. 'Tis nearing nightfall. Shall we stop ahead, and break a meal together once more before we part ways?"

Celeborn shook his head. "I deem it best to continue through the night. The stars will give some hope, and others can rest in the wagons. The farther we can go, the better it will be for us all."

Legolas smiled slightly over his shoulder. "We can make camp for the night, Gimli, and then you may eat."

Celeborn laid a hand on Legolas' shoulder before he could turn Arod aside to find a place for them to rest off of the road. "Legolas, it will take us no more than three days to reach Lindon. I expect the ship will be prepared, and it will not take long for it to be ready to sail. You must meet us in the harbor in one week, or be left behind until the next ship is ready."

The ultimatum made Gimli bristle. "Now wait just a moment, that isn't –"

"I understand," Legolas interrupted. "I will not keep my people waiting anymore. I only wish to say goodbye to the dear perrianath, and then I will be ready to leave with you. I could never forgive myself if I left them without a word." Gimli shut his mouth, his anger cooling slightly. He had to admit, with the way some of these elves looked, seven days seemed nearly too much time.

"Give them my blessings, and the blessings of all elven peoples," said Celeborn.

"I shall," said Legolas. "Thank you for guiding us, my lord. I know this is not the trip you were hoping to take."

"The sadder the journey, the happier the arrival," Celeborn replied. "I have always known these days would be bittersweet. Safe journey."

"May the stars shine on your path." Legolas held up his hand, signaling to those who followed them to continue on after Celeborn, and turned Arod aside. Gimli watched over his shoulder and saw that the elves were barely phased by the sudden disappearance of their prince. He wondered which journey, of the many he had taken, was worst. The Fellowship, at least, held some pleasant memories. This one left him with naught but a heavy heart. He wondered, too, if the journey back to Gondor would be any better; without Legolas, could even the presence of the hobbits lift his spirits? He shook his head. No need to get sentimental. Or at least no need to tell the elf.

**XXX**

Estella looked up from her place in the crook of a low-hanging tree branch. Her sharp ears caught the sound of singing even over her husband's snores. He had fallen asleep next to their fire pit, leaving Estella to make sure their eight-year-old son, Theoden, and their six-year-old daughter, Lilly, didn't wander away from their camp in the Old Forest. She didn't mind, really; Merry worked hard as the Master of Buckland, and he was already getting called "the magnificent." If anything did happen, years trailing her brother Fatty and his friends had taught her plenty about defending herself. Besides, they were very close to the main road, and the rangers always kept that area safe and clear.

But what could those voices be? Rangers? She didn't think so, the rangers tended to make themselves invisible when hobbits were about; she only knew they were there because Merry sometimes went to meet with them. Estella cocked her head and listened. It was a beautiful sound, and she wished she knew more elvish. Elvish! Yes, that must be it then; it was said many elves passed this way, especially these days. This was the first time she had encountered any, and she couldn't deny the natural hobbit curiosity that welled up in her at the thought of seeing real elves.

She tugged on her son's collar, briefly getting his attention away from the sausage on his fork. "Theo, Lilly!"

"Ma, it'll only go bad if we wait to eat it!" Theo complained around a mouthful of food.

She put one finger to her lips and cupped the other hand around her ear. "No dear, listen!"

They did, and after a moment Lilly whispered, "Pretty!"

"Who's that?" asked Theo, letting the sausage drop onto his plate.

*Estella grinned, "Woodelves." She sprang from the tree and tiptoed towards the road, shaking Merry awake on her way and beckoning him to follow. Theoden and Lilly glanced at one another, then scrambled after their mother and groggy father.

Estella glanced behind her, gesturing for silence. The family crouched behind a fallen tree, a little way back from the road. Hobbits, no matter their age, were very good at being stealthy when they particularly wanted to, and so no one noticed the four heads peaking out over the log.

They stared in awe at the glowing company of elves before them. Some rode horses, some walked, and others rode in wagons. They sang in harmony, not always the same words but it all mingled together into a hauntingly beautiful lament.

"They're going to the harbor beyond the White Towers. To the Grey Havens," Merry explained quietly. He yawned.

"They're leaving Middle Earth," whispered Estella.

"Never to return," Merry nodded. Theoden and Lilly had their eyes wide open, alive with wonder. Estella could not help wondering how many more chances her children would have to see elves at all, when so many seemed to be leaving.

Lilly echoed her feelings with a sniff. "It makes me sad."*

Merry pulled her up next to him and kissed the top of her curly head. "It makes me sad too. But we have to remember that they're going home, to a place that was made just for elves, like the Shire was made for hobbits."

They watched the procession in silence for a few more moments, and then Theo tugged on his mother's arm. "Da said we were going to see an elf soon. Is he with them?"

Estella looked to her husband, who chuckled softly. "I don't know, but I wouldn't get your hopes up too high. We've been waiting a long time, and I expect it might take them a bit longer. They've had a long way to travel, you know."

"But…but if it _was_ them, do you think we'd meet them around here?" said Theoden.

"Maybe," Merry replied. He stood quietly, lifting Lilly into his arms. "Let's get back to camp; I think it's time for the rest of you to get some sleep. I can look after things for a while."

"But Da, cou'n't we look?" asked Lilly, even as her little fists reached up to rub at her heavy eyes.

"In the morning, if you'd like," Estella answered, taking Theoden's hand. "It would be very rude to intrude on anyone else this late at night."

**XXX**

On a cool evening in the middle of June, Samwise and his wife sat out in their front yard, enjoying the evening while their children played, chasing one another around the yard of Bag End. There was pretty Elanor, fifteen, acting as the leader of their brood, along with the quieter Rose, eleven, and Pippin, seven, who looked more like Samwise than his namesake. Frodo, thirteen, tried to pretend he was not interested in such childish games, as he joined the round-faced, brown-eyed, nine-year-old Merry, and fair-haired, five-year-old Goldilocks, in playing their parts as orcs in this version of "the three hunters." Hamfast and Daisy, at 4 and 3, tottled after their siblings, but had no understanding of the game and merely enjoyed the feel of the grass on their little hairy feet. Their youngest, Primrose, slept soundly in a basinet between Same and Rosie.

Yes, it was a fine evening, preceded by a fine dinner. An equally fine supper was sure to follow, although this second meal was always lighter in the Gamgee household. Sam had never regained quite the appetite he had before the War of the Ring, but the hearty salad Rosie and he had prepared sounded wonderful. There would be vegetables fresh from their garden, and a wonderful sauce for it that Mrs. Longfellow had gifted to them, and perhaps some…

"Ma, Da! Look look!" yelled several small voices. Primrose, unhappy to be so rudely wakened, joined the noise from her basinet.

Rosie sighed as she lifted Primrose from the basket. "Go see what it is they want; it's about time for supper anyway. I'll feed her, and then the rest of us can eat."

Sam nodded and went over to the spot at the corner of their fence where the rest of their children had gathered. "Now what is all this noise about? There's certainly no need to shout."

"Da," said Frodo, "look!" He pointed to the path leading up to Bag End, and Sam looked.

"Why, I'll be! It's your uncles come for a visit! We weren't expecting them for some time now. Elanor, go in and let your ma know we have company on the way!"

"But Da, look!" she repeated, pointing further down the path. "Faramir, Theoden, and Lilly are on a horse!"

Sam squinted, and to his surprise, there was indeed a white horse with three hobbit children perched on its back alongside a few bags. This was not just any horse, either. Sam was fairly certain he would have recognized the horse even if it had been alone, for he had encountered few enough in his lifetime to remember each individual, but the two figures alongside the animal gave him away. This was Arod, and the tall figure guiding him by a hand on the neck was Legolas the elf. Which made what he had first mistaken for an over-laden hobbit Gimli the dwarf.

"Hullo there Gamgees!" called Merry with a bright smile, the first to spy them from the path below. "We come bearing guests!"

Still gaping, Sam ushered the children toward the house. "Go! Go get your mother, and get cleaned up! We're to have some very important guests, and you must be on your best behavior if you wish to see them!"

"Can we ride on the horse?" asked Pippin, practically bouncing with excitement.

"You'll have to ask them, but if you want my permission or your mother's you had better go clean up!" Sam replied. He dusted himself off, picking up toys and gardening supplies on his own way toward the house and trying to dump them in an inconspicuous location. Rosie came running out of the house.

"What is it that's got them so excited? They say we 'ave company, and something about a…" Sam brought her to their gate and turned her eyes to the road, "…horse. My word! Are they all coming here?"

Sam smiled, "'Fraid so, Rosie. Is it alright? I'm sure we can find them a room at the Green Dragon, it's not far."

Her hands went to her hips. "And turn such great guests away from our hospitality? I think not, Samwise Gamgee! Oh heavens, I had better go and find some room for them!" With a flourish of skirts she vanished back into the house, leaving Sam to stand alone before the gate. He looked around, a bit bewildered by the sudden lack of company, and by the time he looked back at the road his friends were almost at the gate.

"Hail Mayor Gamgee!" called Gimli. "I hope you don't mind us dropping in like this; we weren't quite sure when we would arrive, you see. You know elves; it is impossible to get a solid answer from them!"

Sam grinned. Gimli looked a bit older than he remembered, but the years had left the dwarf largely unchanged. "Not at all! Welcome to Hobbiton, my friends, it's wonderful to see you!" He opened the gate wider and ushered them inside. Gimli bustled through, bearing his own pack as well as what appeared to be saddle bags. Then came Merry and his wife Estella, who had a proper plump physic and particularly long brown curls that she always pinned up at the back of her neck. Pippin and Diamond walked through with their arms thrown about one another, each carrying their bags in their free hands; Diamond was short, as hobbits went, so she and the tall Pippin made an interesting pair to see. Still, her brown eyes held the same spark of mischief Sam recognized in Pippin, and they were an excellent match.

Legolas did not come through the gate, but stood outside with Arod lifting down the children one at a time. First Faramir, with near-golden hair like Pippin but his mother's dark eyes, then Lilly, a cherub of a child who was all rosy cheeks, and Theoden, who had Merry's blue eyes and brown hair. The children ran past him into the yard, leaving Sam to smile up at Legolas. The elf smiled back, but it didn't quite reach his eyes; he looked very tired, ill even. "Is there somewhere we can leave Arod? He won't wander, but I would not want him to eat your garden."

Sam nodded, "We don't have any horse stables, but there's a field not too far away that I'm sure the sheep wouldn't mind sharing, so long as Arod doesn't."

"Doesn't mind? Of course he won't, I am sure Gimli will have a hard time convincing him to _leave_ once he's had a taste of your Shire grass. Are you sure your folk won't be upset having a horse about?" asked Legolas.

"Oh, some of 'em might be, but most will think he's a wonder. I'll warn the shepherds not to let anyone bother 'im," Sam promised.

"Arod will be good, so long as no one tries his patience over-much," said Legolas, patting the horse's neck. Sam noticed the strange bulging of the elf's fingers, and for a moment couldn't help staring. Legolas quickly withdrew his fingers and hid them inside his sleeves, which were long despite the mild evening.

Sam frowned, but decided not to comment. "I can take him down there now, if he'll follow…does he have a rope?"

Gimli laughed, "That darned horse hasn't known a lead rope in many a year, my lad. But he'll follow sure enough, just dangle an elf in front of him."

Legolas glared in the dwarf's direction. "He will follow anyone I tell him, if they don't spend the entire time insulting him."

"I'll take Arod, I remember the way," Pippin said. "Sam, you should stay here and catch up for a moment, before all the hub-bub of introductions!" He winked in the direction of the house, where several pairs of wide eyes were now watching from the windows. He ruffled his son's hair. "Want to come along?" Faramir nodded vigorously, as did the other children. Legolas whispered a few words to Arod, who whinnied in response. Then the elf nodded to Pippin, who walked backwards down the path with Arod following along.

Sam shook his head and turned to his remaining guests. "How did you all come together?"

"We met them yester-morn on a brief camping trip," Estella replied. "Everyone was so excited, and we decided we had to come right to Hobbiton to see you, and bring the Tooks with us!"

"It was quite the lucky accident," added Gimli. "We'd planned to pass through Brandy Hall, then Tuckborough, and finally Hobbiton, but staying in one place makes it all much easier. Gives us more time with you all."

"How long were you planning to stay? You're welcome as long as you like, of course!" said Sam.

Gimli and Legolas looked at one another. "That's the thing, lad, we can't stay near as long as we'd like. But more on that later!" Gimli clapped his hands together. "I for one am looking forward to meeting your family, _Mayor_. I hear it has been growing!" Still bewildered, Sam found himself being led to his own front door, where Rosie waited surrounded by a group of eager-looking young hobbits. By the time everyone was inside, their front hall was quite crowded, especially with Legolas crouching down so as not to smack his head on any of the beams.

Sam cleared his throat. "Lord Gimli and Lord Legolas, may I introduce you to my wife, the lovely Mrs. Rosie Gamgee."

Rosie curtsied as best she could with a baby on her hip. Primrose was wide awake now, and staring as curiously as the others at the strangers who had come to visit. Gimli bowed low, "It is an honor to meet you, my lady."

Legolas lay a hand over his heart, then brought it out. "Elen síla lumenn' omentielvo: a star shines on the hour of our meeting."

"The honor is all mine, good lords. We are happy to have you in our home," said Rosie.

"And who do we have here? One, two, three, four, five, six, seven eight, nine young hobbits!" Gimli exclaimed. He clapped Sam on the back. "That's my lad!"

Sam blushed to the tips of his ears. "Ah, well…yes, let me introduce you to my children: Elanor, Frodo, Rose, Merry, Pippin, Goldilocks, Hamfast, Daisy, and our newest addition, Primrose."

"What do you say?" Rosie prompted.

A chorus of greetings rose up from the children. "Pleasure" "Nice to meet you" "Hullo" "Welcome"

"Such fine younglings!" Legolas announced. "You must be proud, Lady Rosie."

"Just Rosie is fine," she smiled, "and yes, we are very proud."

Frodo shuffled a bit, then looked up at the elf and asked in a small voice, "Lord Legolas and Lord Gimli sirs, did you…did you really do all those things Da said you did?"

The pair blinked at one another. "Well," answered Legolas, "that depends. What things have you been told?"

Sam groaned, as this opened the floor to a barrage of questions from his children, joined by his nephews and niece when they returned with the elder Pippin. There was simply no way around it; he and the others would have no time to speak with their friends until the little ones' curiosity had been properly satisfied. Then again, only Legolas was likely to live long enough to see any one hobbit's curiosity fully satiated.

* * *

*...* = Much of the dialogue and movement in this section comes from _The Fellowship of the Ring_ movie, I believe in the extended version.


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

100 Reviews! Thank you! Apparently that's worked some kind of magic, because it has resulted in the rarest of occasions: a reasonably timed update! Sorry about the weird break formatting in between sections; it won't let me center them. And for those of you who were wondering if I had forgotten our friend Faramir, I have not! The first part of this chapter is actually something of a deleted scene showing what happened to Faramir and Legolas right before Eowyn and the twins found them 'dead'. I was going to put it in much earlier, but it never really fit. Also, Rosie gets to kick some moping elf ass, because, let's face it, someone had to end the pity party. Enjoy!

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Faramir was trapped in a storage room with no readily apparent means of escape. There was a dead woodelven warrior on the floor, and a living but injured one sitting next to him. He could hear the muffled arguments of their enemies beyond the door, promising horrors he had only imagined. Faramir looked around desperately for something, anything they could use to buy time until help could arrive. Faramir's eyes landed on the body of the elf. "Would you find it horribly disrespectful if I went through this warrior's possessions?" he asked. His voice sounded like it came from a long way away.

_Legolas shook his head, "I would do so myself if my hands were not broken."_

_Faramir took a few items from the dead elf's pockets, but anything of real use had already been taken. Faramir mumbled as he worked, "String, no needles though…bits of bread, but it's not even lembas…a letter…" Legolas, who had been watching Faramir's quest diligently, gasped when Faramir removed what appeared to be a small vial of water from the warrior's boot. "What is it?" he asked._

"_I should have remembered! This is a Greenwood warrior, of course he would have it," the elf exclaimed. He focused on Faramir and his gaze turned very serious. "Do you trust me, Faramir?"_

_Faramir hesitated a moment; there was something odd about the question. Considering the situation, however, the steward wasted little time in pondering. "Yes, Legolas, I think I do."_

"_Good," said Legolas. "I have been listening to their plans, and Gwarod recognizes that he cannot win a fight against Ithilien and Gondor. He will take us with him when he runs, in the hopes of selling us into slavery if we do not die along the way. In a moment he will return, and I at least do not plan to be living by that time."_

"_What?" Faramir hissed. Had the elf gone mad? They could still be rescued! Yes, Legolas looked half-dead already, and when he looked down as his own body – the blood covering his sides from where it had run out of the lash marks on his back, the dark bruising over his ribs, the raw skin of his wrists – he knew he looked much the same. Suicide, still, was beyond his comprehension. Surely Legolas had more hope than that left?_

_To his further surprise, the elf smiled, "Faramir, you do not understand, and there is little time to explain. That vial is filled with Mirkwood's greatest secret – a potion called ungolnen."_

"_Spider water?"_

_Legolas nodded, "Yes, and it is the most powerful sleeping draught I know of. It is a mix of herbs, water from the Enchanted River, and, yes, spider venom. Drinking just half of that will put a fully grown elf into a sleep so deep that to all others he will seem as one who is dead, until his friends should wake him or death kindly take him. Of course, it has some side effects…"_

_Faramir looked closely at the liquid. "What kind of effects?"_

_Legolas sighed, "It makes you lose your memory, for a time, and it will leave you completely helpless. I do not know what the effects might be on a human. In all honesty, you might never wake up if the potion is too strong. If it does work, however, it will take us away from this pain, and it is likely even if Gwarod escapes he will leave us behind, thinking us to be dead. So long as my folk are told–"_

_Gwarod yelled something particularly crude, obviously so that his captives would hear, and the men with him laughed. There was the sound of scraping chairs, and Legolas beckoned Faramir closer. "There is no time left. You may do as you will, and I will regret it strongly should ill come upon you either way, but I for one can take no more of this. Please, Faramir, help me to drink this potion, as I cannot grasp something so small with these hands – give me no more than half of that bottle, and drink a little less yourself."_

_Faramir's hands shook as he unstoppered the glass and positioned it at the elf's lips. Tipping the vial, he allowed half of the liquid in the glass to fall into Legolas' mouth before bringing it away. The effect was immediate. Legolas' eyes clouded over and his breathing changed. "Move away from me, Faramir, it should not look like we hastened one another's final moments. Should our friends mistake us, then I would not…not have them think…that."_

_Faramir did as he was told, careful not to spill any of the ungolnen that remained. "Does it hurt?" he asked when he had settled himself in a corner._

_Legolas shook his head. "Nay…you go…numb." It seemed true enough, for the elf was struggling to move into a position where he was lying down. "I'm so tired…"_

_Faramir gave him a sad smile, "Rest in peace, my friend."_

_Legolas gave a breathless laugh, "Say instead…wake in peace. I would much prefer…to wake."_

"_Very well then, wake in peace," Faramir replied. The words seemed to echo: _wake peace, wake peace, wake peace_. He watched as Legolas grew weaker. For all appearances, it truly looked like the elf was dying, and Faramir felt himself stiffen in a sudden fear._

"_Faramir?"_

"_Yes?" he whispered._

"_You must…hurry. I hear…horses…not enough to be our friends."_

_Faramir strained his ears. He could smell horses, but what he heard was much stranger. There were voices, and a weeping of injured men that sounded almost like an infant's wails. Could it be the potion confusing the elf, or were they out of time? "Legolas, are you sure?" There was no response from the elf, who now lay prostrate on the floor, though the other sounds continued. "Legolas?" Faramir tried again, but the elf did not respond and Faramir could no longer see him breathing. He stared back at the vial, and made his choice._

_The liquid burned his throat and tasted like salt. He felt he was drowning in it, even after he pulled the vial away from his lips. Drowning, choking, sleep, death…_

A hearty shaking finally drew him into awareness, accompanied by the sound of his wife's desperate calls. "Faramir, wake up! Peace!"

He blinked and breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with clean air that smelled strongly, comfortingly, of horse. Distantly he could pick up the sound of a crying baby, but the child's sobs seemed to be subsiding into lesser hiccups. He blinked again and rolled into the hands that had woken him, that still held him, and beheld his beautiful Eowyn. She looked concerned, but answered without his asking, "You are in Rohan, Faramir. We came to see the birth of my brother's new son, Beornwulf."

He remembered, and he relaxed back against the pillows of their bed. "Yes, of course."

Eowyn was quiet for a minute, waiting for him to get his breath back. She had lit a small candle, and that was all that permeated the darkness of the room. He could not see anything beyond Eowyn, and so it took time for him to convince himself that the darkness did not hide the corpses of elves or men. "Was it the same dream?" Eowyn asked quietly, squeezing his shoulder.

He nodded. "It's been so long since I have had one."

"It probably has something to do with Beornwulf. Lothíriel had him just this afternoon, and for whatever reason that triggered something," Eowyn replied.

Faramir grunted in frustration. "That doesn't make sense. I thought I was finally rid of it!"

"You can't blame your subconscious," said Eowyn, running gentle, soothing fingers through his hair with one hand while she rubbed one shoulder with the other. "What does it matter that you still have nightmares about a day you nearly died? I still dream about my encounter with the nazgúl, and that happened over seventeen years ago."

Faramir relaxed some under her touch. "I know."

"It is going to take time, perhaps a great deal of time, but things will get better. The nightmares may still come, but the fear will not."

"It would take less time if I didn't have to deal with the consequences every day," said Faramir. He knew from Eowyn that the skin on his back was a mass of scar lines, some thin and barely visible, others raised and long. This might not have bothered Faramir, who had rare opportunities to see his own back, but he wore a shirt constantly so that no one else would see them, even if he meant to swim with his family or spar. What truly bothered him was that the illness the ungolnen had brought on in him left him weak; even these many months later his strength was a third of what it had been before the attacks. It had aged him.

Eowyn saw his distress. "You will get stronger, too, and even if you do not, I will always be here to protect you from any who might seek to do you disservice."

Faramir turned his eyes up to his smirking wife. He couldn't help but smile back. "A fine job you do of that, too." He kissed her.

She leaned back against the pillows with a yawn and pulled him with her. "You should try going back to sleep. I know you can't usually, but try. How else are we to pester Eomer and Lothíriel tomorrow, now that they've spent a night up with their newborn and our children remain fast asleep?"

Faramir resigned himself to his wife's arms and shifted back onto his side. He was grateful that Eowyn left the candle to burn, for he still could not bring himself to allow complete darkness. It could not have been more than ten minutes before Eowyn's breathing evened out behind him, but Faramir remained awake for hours. Still, before the pale hand of dawn tried to draw back their curtains, he did return to slumber.

**XXX**

With the children put to sleep at last in beds a little more crowded than usual, the hobbits finally had time to sit down and speak properly with their friends. They sat in what Sam called "the gathering room," just off of the front hall, which he had renovated specifically to receive big folk. It was larger and had a higher ceiling than was common in most hobbit holes, with a fireplace on one end left empty in the mild weather, plenty of comfortable chairs, and bright burning lamps. Rosie made sure each of her guests had a glass of the Gamgees' good ale, and that Legolas had a seat by an open window so that the smoke from the pipes Gimli, Merry, and Pippin were drawing on would not bother him.

Sam cleared his throat to break the strange silence that descended once everyone was settled. "Well then, tell us of things in the wider world."

"Let me see," said Gimli, taking a long draft from his pipe. "I suppose things go on much the way they have these past many years. Aglarond, for my part, flourishes, as does Rohan. The stone is good and, I am told, the plains are clear and largely safe for dwarf, human, and horse alike. Even I must admit it is a wonder to see the wild herds of those beasts returning to their hills, now that they do not worry of orcs or wildmen. King Eomer is glad, and last I heard his queen was expecting! I know no more on that, unfortunately, what with recent events. Oh! But you should see Minas Tirith! Near restored to her former glory, if not well on her way to surpassing it! Our Aragorn is doing quite well, as is the lovely Queen Undomiel. He's been working on some political relations with Khand, and it looks as though a highly beneficial trade agreement will come of it. Eldarion, I believe, is helping with some of it. He's turned into quite the strapping young lad! He's the very image of his mother, save he has a more practical build than any elf I've ever seen." Here Gimli shot Legolas a look, but the elf gave no indication of offense or humor.

"How old is he now?" asked Rosie.

"Fourteen? Yes, fourteen, nearly fifteen. He is nigh a man in the eyes of Gondor," Gimli replied.

Rosie smiled. "That is odd to think, what with Elanor ready to turn sixteen and not yet out of her childhood. Humans age so quickly; in no time they go from a child to a man!"

"It is the way of mortals in general, especially of men," Legolas frowned. "They grow up, then grow old, and finally grow cold, all within the space of a few years."

"Do not sound so melancholy Legolas!" Merry exclaimed. "It is the very brevity of our time that makes it so sweet. Besides, we have many years left with which to enjoy fine company as we are this eve!"

The hobbits agreed, and Gimli tried not to look so uncomfortable. Unbidden thoughts entered his mind, and he wondered just how many years the hobbits did have. Fifty? Sixty? Eighty? Surely no more than that, if they were lucky. Dwarves were long-lived, and it was very likely Gimli would be there to see each one of these lively friends laid to rest, along with all of the other human friends he had made and his dwarven elders. He was starting to see what the world must look like to an elf, who would, and had, watched every mortal companion die, with no hope to follow. He shivered.

"Is it too cold, Lord Gimli?" asked Diamond. "We could put the fire on, or close the window."

Gimi blinked. "Nay las, thank ye kindly. I merely had a thought that didn't sit right with me, but it has passed. Tell us of the Shire now, and your families. I see ya have been busy!"

"We certainly have!" laughed Pippin. "Faramir may be one child, but he has enough energy to keep us running, along with everyone else in Tuckborough. He gets himself into such trouble already, I don't know what we'll do when he gets older."

"Now who does that remind me of?" Merry grinned. "I suppose Theoden takes as much after me, for he is often the instigator of such adventures."

"Of course Lilly feels she must go along with them," added Estella. "She's the sweetest of girls on her own, but I swear every time you put her with her brother and her cousin, she turns into as much of a wild pig as the rest of 'em!"

"Oh, but they can all be sweet and mild as lambs when it counts," said Merry. "They are fine little hobbits, and I would not trade them for all the pipeweed in the Shire."

Sam nodded in agreement. "I could go on for hours about the children. Daisy is talking, Goldilocks is uses the necessaries on her own, Merry is a perfect gardener, Elanor is a miniature diplomat…they're all wonderful."

"Have you any children?" asked Diamond, turning back to Gimli and Legolas.

"Ah, nay las, and it is more like than not that I never shall," said Gimli. "Dwarven women are a rare and lovely thing, and I am not the marrying type. I do have my nephew Kirin, though. He's become something of my prodigy ever since he moved to Aglarond away from Nossa and her husband. He was keen to try something new and they thought I could keep an eye on him. He's strong as a mountain, and he has brains to match. Wouldn't you say, Legolas?"

"Yes, Kirin embodies the indomitable spirit I have come to know in dwarves." Legolas agreed, a smile crossing his face. It fell away quickly, however. "I have no lover or children, either, but then, there will be no more elven children in Middle Earth."

"Well you shall just have to borrow ours!" Rosie laughed. "They like you very much, both of you, and you're very good with them. They have been looking forward to your visit since we told them you would be coming!"

"Which reminds me," said Sam. "You never did tell us how long you were planning to stay."

Once again, Gimli and Legolas shared a wary look. Even the hobbits felt that the room had gone a little colder, and Rosie got up to close the window that was not next to Legolas. When she sat again, the elf took a deep breath and looked down at his strange hands. "We cannot stay long; or at least, I cannot. I must leave in three days."

"Three days!" Pippin exclaimed. "Why? Where are you going?"

Legolas looked up. "To the Grey Havens. It will take me about two days to get there from here, and if I am not there in five days' time, they will leave without me."

"So you're saying goodbye to someone," Merry said, no other possibility for the journey even crossing his mind. "You should have come to visit on your way back! You still can, in fact, and then we'll have more time together."

"You don't understand," insisted Legolas. "I do not intend to return this way, or by any other road. I am going to Valinor, alongside Lord Celeborn and many others."

Sam's jaw fell open. "You cannot be serious!"

"You're leaving us?" said Pippin. "But you can't leave! We haven't seen you in years, and now you're saying this is the last time we're _ever_ going to see you? That isn't fair!"

"No, it isn't," Legolas admitted, "and for that my sorrows are great. But I must leave; I feel every second of this world, and I see the end of my people approaching on the wings of a fell beast. There is a longing in my heart, a longing for…for…" Here Legolas turned his ear toward the window, and his mind was lost to them.

"Legolas?" called Merry. He started to stand, but Gimli pushed him back with a gentle hand

"Let him be a moment, it is the sea that has him in its thrall. I would speak to you later, for there is something I would have you help me with which he cannot know. For tonight, please let us talk of other things." The hobbits nodded wordlessly, too shocked to do more than consent. Gimli shook Legolas hard. "Legolas! Do not dream away your time here, listen!"

Legolas blinked rapidly, and looked around at the anxious faces. "I am sorry. What…what were we talking about?"

Gimli opened his mouth to lie, but Rosie beat him to it. "The children, we were bragging about our children. I'm not surprised you drifted off, I know I could talk about our darlings for an age!"

"Oh, forgive me," said Legolas. "I would love to hear more of your children."

So the night continued, sharing stories of children and jobs. All the while Gimli carefully steered the conversation away from anything pertaining to Ithilien. Only when the hour was very late indeed did the hobbits and Gimli head for bed. Legolas, who did not dream willingly, went outside and sang softly from a nearby tree.

**XXX**

As Gimli suggested, Legolas was gone the following morning in search of Arod. The dwarf pulled Sam, Merry, and Pippin aside from the great breakfast that was laid out, and spoke softly to them of the plans he had made so long ago with Faramir and Aragorn. "What can we do?" asked Pippin eagerly when he had finished.

Gimli shrugged. "What you usually do, I suppose. Encourage him to stay, but without pressing too hard. Help me give him a reason to stay."

All three readily agreed to this, and, when Legolas returned, set about making his stay in the Shire as enjoyable as possible. Sam, with a few children in tow, showed him the magnificent garden surrounding Bag End. Together they went on to see the new Party Tree, born from the malorn seed Galadriel had gifted to Sam. Merry took everyone in through the back door of the Green Dragon, where they could enjoy the revelry without drawing attention to the strangers with them. Rosie and Estella took Legolas with them to the fields of wildflowers that grew along some hillsides, along with Elanor, Rose, and Lilly. They managed to introduce the elf to a few species of fauna he had never encountered before, and the young girls were delighted when he managed to entice two birds and four butterflies to sit on them. Pippin led a trip to what had been the hobbits' favorite place to picnic and fish when they were younger, and young Frodo managed to catch a particularly large one.

All this and more they did over the next three days, of course including plenty of hearty hobbit meals in between with enough food and drink to keep even Gimli satiated. The children adored elf and dwarf alike, especially when they produced little gifts from the most un expected of places. There were impeccably carved wooden animals, dolls with pointed ears or beards, tiny bows with soft-tipped arrows, foreign sweets, intricate puzzles, light-weight armor meant for play, and pretty baubles for their hair. They begged Legolas and Gimli for stories, and were never disappointed, for each had a wealth of experience or culture to draw upon.

On the second evening, as Gimli regaled the younglings with a tale from his own youth in the Blue Mountains, Goldilocks, who sat in Legolas' lap, took one of his hands in her own and examined it thoughtfully. "Leg'las," she whispered into the part of his ear that was not covered by his black headband, careful not to interrupt the story.

"Yes aranel?" (princess)

"Yer hands is strange."

Legolas blushed in shame and started to pull his hands away, but the child continued to hold one in a grip of surprising strength. "I am sorry," he managed to say. "Do they frighten you?"

Goldilocks looked surprised that he would ask such a question. "No, that'd be silly. It is only…" she picked up his hand and spread out the fingers, then put her hand against his. Her entire hand fit within the space of his palm. "They are very big," she giggled.

Legolas smiled then, and did not worry so much about his fingers when he let them close around hers. "Perhaps it is your hands that are small, aranel, but as you see they are hands all the same. The important thing is that you use your hands in a way that brings goodness to the world."

She turned earnest eyes from their hands to his face. "How do I do that?"

"By holding onto the hands of others, like you are right now," he replied. "One thing you must promise me, though: never, ever raise your hands against another living creature to hurt them."

"Oh, never!" promised Goldilocks.

"Then these hands," said Legolas, giving them a squeeze, "are perfect."

Later, when the children were asleep, Rosie followed Legolas outside. "Ye've got a way with the children, my lord."

Legolas smiled. "Certainly not better than yours. You have a wonderful family."

"Thank ye." Rosie was quiet, but Legolas sensed there was something more on her mind, so he waited for her to continue. "I…I would ask, and beggin' your pardon, but I must ask, what it is that makes ye want to leave so very much. There are times when I see in yer eyes that the very thought of it breaks yer 'eart, and others when I think ya must go soon, lest ye fade away before our very eyes. Ye are full of contradictions, and I'm not far certain ya know yer own mind."

Legolas studied her carefully, for her words were wise and deserved consideration. "I am not well," he answered at last. "I cannot be well, though my body is mended. Things are not as they were with me, and I feel…I feel I am a stranger. I will not list my troubles to you, but only say that there are many within my mind. I have no peace, and I think that is why you see my struggle. I am…I am not well."

"Well of course ye ain't well!" Rosie exclaimed. "Yer whole world's been turned around; no one _should_ be alright after a thing like that, even these months later. It mightn't be my place to say, but I remember Frodo, and he was fair destroyed by that…that journey. Now I would never say a thing against Mr. Baggins, but with all the anguish on his behalf folks darn near forgot about my Sam, and I'm sure about Merry and Pippin as well. Oh yes, they moved along with life, as did we all after the ruffians and that wizard, but they certainly weren't 'alright'. I don't believe there to be anything wrong with not feelin' yerself."

"It is more than that!" Legolas shouted. He quickly regretted the level and tone of his voice, and tried to soften it. "It is more than not feeling right, it is a feeling that is near to killing me. I do not know how much of what went on in Ithilien was told to you, but what they did to my people is unforgivable. Change is ruin to an elf, and they changed us beyond bearing. I see that the world, too, is changing beyond what I can follow. I cannot stay here!"

Rosie crossed her arms. "But do you know what ye do to everyone else? Ye made Goldi promise not to use her hands to hurt, but ye do plenty of harm to yer friends without liftin' a finger. Now, I daren't blame you a bit for what 'appened back in Ithilien, or for ye feelin' bad because of it for a long time to come. If I thought that ye was as dead inside as ye say ye are, I would tell ya to sail away without a glance behind. But, what I've seen ain't the way of a dead man. Ye don't act like Frodo did, those last months before 'e left. Ye've got _life _left to ya."

"Ah, life. That is it exactly. How can I stay, when I know that I will be watching all of this," he gestured to Rosie and everything around her, "die as I live?" He looked at her earnestly, willing her to understand. "Elves were not made to feel the pass of time by every minute, as mortals do."

"How wonderful, then, it must be to be an elf – built not to care." Rosie's voice was ice cold, a tone he had only heard from a hobbit during the very worst of days with the Fellowship. "Good eve, my lord." Before Legolas could say another word, she turned on her heal and walked back into the house, firmly shutting the door behind her. Legolas hissed a curse that he prayed no keen little hobbit ears would hear and vaulted into the tree on the roof of Bag End, where he spent the night brooding.


	26. Chapter 26

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

Thanks for your reviews! They really do inspire me to write more, and thus we have an update of unusual length! There are a lot of conflicting voices in this, but that is meant to reflect the state Legolas is in. Too many cooks spoil the stew, too much advice confuses the elf, although he will make a decision by the end of this chapter. On that note, this is NOT the last chapter - but we are very close to the end. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Lunch was unusually quiet in the Gamgee household that third afternoon. It was one of the best meals Rosie had ever cooked, but still there was a bitter taste in Sam's mouth when it was done. Even the children understood that there was something somber about this meal, and kept their chatter to a minimum.

Legolas hadn't eaten more than a mouthful during his entire stay in Hobbiton, and that only at the risk of insulting his hosts. But he usually tried to look a little more involved at the meals he attended. Now he paid no attention at all. This was likely to be one of their last meals together, too! Perhaps that was what bothered Legolas about it, yet Sam noticed the elf kept rubbing at his temples. When Primrose started crying from her special high seat, Legolas winced and finally excused himself. Sam gestured for Rosie to stay with their guests, lifted Primrose, and made his way to the bedroom he shared with Rosie and their current youngest. As he passed the back door he saw it swing shut, and determined to go after Legolas as soon as the baby had been changed properly.

Sam found Legolas out in the back garden of Bag End. The elf had his head buried in his hands, and did not look up when Sam made his way over. Sam settled next to him. He would have been content to wait for Legolas to talk if Primrose had not gurgled and made a grab for a lock of the blonde hair that hung over the elf's hands. She could just barely grasp the end of a braid, and Sam carefully diverted the little fist around his own fingers. He tried not to think about the reason the elf's hair was so much shorter than usual. "Sorry," he said when Legolas shot him a look that was far more curious than upset.

Sam himself wasn't sure what had led him to bring Primrose out with him. He had been focused on reaching Legolas without further distraction, and he was so used to carrying one of his children about that at this point they seemed to be natural extensions of himself. Legolas quirked an eyebrow, then went back to rubbing his head. Sam frowned. "What is it?"

"Just a headache," Legolas answered. "They are quite common, as I understand it."

"Not among elves, as _I _understand it," Sam replied.

Legolas smiled sadly. "You are right that they are a rare symptom among healthy elves. However, among those who are not headaches are one of the most oft cited complaints."

"Aren't you healthy now?" asked Sam. He wasn't sure if he was overstepping the boundaries, but carried on anyway. "You were, erm, attacked, months ago, I mean. Shouldn't things have healed?"

"Elves heal quickly in body, and slowly in mind or spirit," Legolas answered. "The pain in my head is easing, though. I have already taken some herbs for it, courtesy of the twins. They sent enough along with us to supply half of Valinor!"

Sam winced at the name of the place. It no longer sounded beautiful, but empty, for it was a place that continued to steal away his friends. "Do you…do you really intend to go there?"

"…yes…"

"You don't sound convinced." Sam was certain he was overstepping his boundaries this time, for his relationship with Legolas had always been a bit more formal than it had with Gimli. One simply did not say these kinds of things to an elf lord and prince!

"I thought I was," Legolas admitted, "but every time I think of leaving forever, never seeing any of you again, it makes my head hurt. Then I imagine staying here, and the ache gets worse."

Sam considered the problem for a moment. "Have you ever thought of making a list?" he suggested at last. It was the same solution he had offered to solve many a hobbit conundrum in his time as mayor. "You know, writing down your reasons to stay and your reasons to leave, then counting them up."

Legolas smiled. "That is a wise thing to do, my friend, but lists do not take into account the fact that the very nature of a difficult choice usually has something to do with the quality of such reasons, not the quantity. Either way, I know already that I have seen all I meant to in this world."

"But there is so much in Middle Earth! It changes every day, you cannot possibly have seen it all!" Sam exclaimed.

"What is there left for me but to see you die?" said Legolas, his voice bitter.

"Join us in living, and see the new life." Before Legolas could refuse, as he had every other time he was asked if he wished to hold the baby, Sam shifted Primrose into the elf's arms. Primrose squirmed momentarily, as if confused by the unusually large size of the hands around her. Once she settled, Primrose stared up at the strange giant, her mouth forming a little 'o'. Legolas looked back at her with equal awe, a look Sam had not seen on the elf's face since the very beginning of their journey as a Fellowship. Primrose smiled and squeaked, then stuck her fist in her mouth.

"Is that…good?" asked Legolas, never taking his eyes away from the child.

"Yes, she's pleased." Sam laughed. "You haven't been around babies much, have you?"

"Never."

That was not an answer Sam had been expecting. "Never? You're more than nine hundred years old, and you have never seen a baby?" He had learned that, in general, when elves said things like 'never' or 'forever', they did not mean to exaggerate as mortals did; they literally meant it.

"I have seen several in mortal cities, but I have never held one nor had any part in their care. I was part of the last generation of children born in Greenwood before the shadow made it too dangerous, and even in Rivendell few were born after my time. I have seen horses, dogs, and all manner of wild creatures give birth, but never any child of Eru."

"What about Eldarion, or Faramir's children?" said Sam.

Legolas shook his head. "Gimli and I were traveling when Eldarion was born; we did not meet the prince until he was three. When Elboron was born I was busy with the elves in Ithilien and could not do more than send messengers to Emyn Arnen. Faelwen came days before I was set to leave for a visit to Aglorand. I met all of them after they had reached their first birthday, and even then I had little interaction with them."

"Well then!" Sam announced. "Here you've already encountered something new."

Cautiously, Legolas moved Primrose into the crook of one arm and used his free hand to brush his hand over her hair and face. Sam's daughter crossed her eyes in an attempt to follow his fingers, than reached up with her drool-covered hand to grab onto the smallest one. A smile spread across the elf's face. "She's amazing."

A sudden thought struck Sam. "Would you mind watching 'er then, while I pop back in for a moment?"

Legolas panicked. "But I don't know how to take care of her!"

"Oh, Primrose'll be no trouble. She's been fed and just changed, so she don't need much but someone to mind 'er. You're doing fine as you are, and I'll be just inside." Sam quickly walked away, leaving his youngest in the care of a befuddled Legolas. He was certain the elf would be more careful with Primrose than he himself was at times, and had no fears any harm would befall his daughter. He worried more for the elf's state. Perhaps all this company was actually interfering with Legolas' recovery, and what he really needed was someone he didn't know so well. Someone who needed him in a world that no longer needed his people.

**XXX**

Legolas disappeared again after super, and this time it was Gimli who went after him. The dwarf found Legolas down the road and in a pasture with a grazing Arod, brushing the horse although he needed no more grooming. Every once in a while Legolas paused and leaned against Arod, who would lift his head and watch until the spell passed. "There you are!" Gimli called. "The children were asking after you."

"I'll come in a moment," Legolas replied.

"They are afraid you plan to leave early tomorrow, before they wake, and they want the chance to say good-bye."

Legolas stopped brushing and caught Gimli in one of those glances that made the dwarf think elves were capable of reading minds, no matter how Legolas denied it. "And you?"

"What about me, lad?" Gimli kept his gaze steady.

"Do you really think I would leave now without you, without saying good-bye?"

Mind-reader indeed! Still, he was not going to let the elf get the better of him this time. No amount of staring or lucky guesses would affect him. "I would not have questioned that a year ago. Now, I admit that I only hoped you would still be here."

"And so I am. No matter what happens, Gimli, you must believe that I would never leave you without saying good-bye first."

Gimli nodded. "Alright then. When did you want to start out tomorrow?" Legolas closed his eyes then, and for a moment Gimli wondered if Legolas was about to cry. That was not something he was prepared to deal with; Gimli was simply no good with tears. "Are you, uh, well, Legolas?"

Legolas shook his head slowly, as if it pained him. His eyes opened, thankfully free of tears, but filled with confusion and pain. "I don't know what to do. I was so sure…but now, what can I do?"

Gimli felt his heart tear at this confession, for all the strength had gone from the elf's voice. "It's your decision," he answered. "Whatever you choose, whenever you want to leave, I will be there to say good-bye."

"But I don't know!" Legolas exclaimed. He wrapped his hands around his head and bent his back. Desperately he begged Gimli, "Help me, please. If I leave, then I am leaving so much behind, and I would never want to hurt any of you or break my promises. But if I stay, I will watch everything I have known decay or change beyond recognition. Ai, it hurts! Tell me, please just tell me what to do!"

Gimli had never been quite so close to public tears himself. He saw Legolas as the elves must have seen him all along: hunched over with his bones poking out, his hair losing color, his skin near blue, his eyes sunken, his light leaving. Legolas looked old, as an elf never should. It made little sense to Gimli how he could change so fast, for earlier in the day Legolas had seemed better, but rapid shifts seemed to be the nature of this – this disease. Now Legolas seemed near to what Elladan had described as the point of breaking, when an elf either began a swift descent to death or to recover from the darkness. Most were lost, to death or Valinor.

Maybe it was the pressure of choice that had brought Legolas here. With more time, even another week, they might have seen him through it, but now Gimli was afraid that the elf would die if they kept him back. He hated the cracked sound of his voice when he said, "Legolas, I cannot tell you what to do. You would hate me either way. All I can say is that I…I fear for you, and I need you to live. We all need you alive, wherever you are."

"Live? What is it to live as a relic? To watch everything die? Or to live and know everything is dead? To know I hurt you, to know there is suffering I might have prevented, and joy I might have witnessed? My part in it is over! Is never over! I can't be this…I can't do this…I…You are my dearest friend, and I…to know I hurt you…my part...my friend…ai, it hurts!" Legolas fell to his knees with his head in his hands, his fingers digging into his scalp and the tears, those terrible tears Gimli could never quite fathom, came raining on the grass. Legolas was shaking silently, but Gimli could hear the elf screaming in his mind. He sprinted to his friend and held Legolas' shoulders, afraid he might have fallen into a fit.

"Legolas, stop this!" Gimli found himself shouting, headless of any hobbits who might be about. "You're going to kill yourself this way, let it go! It's alright, lad, it's alright! We'll go to the harbor tomorrow, that's what we'll do, and we'll find Celeborn, and he'll set you to rights until we can get you to Valinor! We'll be fine, it's alright, you can go to Valinor!" As he spoke, he realized that he meant every word. He pressed himself against Legolas' back in an uncharacteristic embrace. "Go to Valinor, Legolas. It hurts me more to see you like this than it will to see you leave. Sail away, and I promise to find you again at the end of all things."

The shaking subsided and Legolas relaxed until he was nearly limp against Gimli. "Legolas?" Gimli whispered. Arod put his head down and blew into Legolas' face. Legolas blinked and looked around, clearly confused. Gimli helped him gradually to his feet and steadied him against Arod. "Are you alright?"

Legolas frowned. His eyes flickered as he searched for a memory to go off of. "I'll come in a moment," he said at last, his voice still more confused than determined.

Gimli sighed. Perhaps it was best that the disease that wreaked havoc with the elf's memory had erased the rest of their conversation. "Of course, Legolas, I knew you would. The children want to hear a story."

Although Legolas did say good-bye to the hobbits, nothing more about the journey was brought up that evening. What could any of them say that had not been said already? In the morning, all Gimli could do was promise Rosie to return to Hobbiton with Sam, Merry, and Pippin on their way back from the Havens. Then he climbed up behind Legolas on Arod, and forced himself to enjoy what there was of this final journey with his friend.

**XXX**

Aragorn stared out from the balcony of his bedroom in the citadel. Sunrise was fast approaching, and soon enough he would need to begin preparing for the day ahead. But for this moment, he could watch the stars blink out and feel the breeze on his face. He licked his lips; the air tasted of salt, and somewhere beyond his sight a gull cried out. His mind traveled to Legolas. The elf would be in the Shire now, for he had received word from his brothers that Legolas had departed Rivendell, still determined to cross the sea. Then again, for all Aragorn knew, Legolas could already be on a ship; he would not know the outcome of their attempts to delay him until it was too late.

Part of him wondered why he was thinking of Legolas at all. It had been many months since he had last seen his friend, and life had readjusted itself. Aragorn hated to admit it, but human nature was helping him to cope with the loss more easily than he had imagined. He was letting the elf go, and the part of him that had dealt with loss all his life knew that this was perfectly healthy, and in no way a betrayal to the great friendship they had shared. He did not feel as empty as he had months ago, he felt stronger, more capable.

Then another part of Aragorn wondered if he was forgetting the elf. He was growing old, after all, and there were moments when he couldn't quite remember what he had done with the quill he was holding in his hand. It seemed that he could recall all that Legolas was to him with clarity, but human memory was notoriously deceitful. He no longer hurt so much in part because he no longer thought about Legolas so often. Here he was, deciding to let go of a friend who might still walk in Middle Earth, alive and well!

Aragorn started when an arm snaked around his waist. "You are troubled," said Arwen.

He smiled; his wife remained one of the few who could catch him off guard and read him so easily. "It is the fact that I am not troubled that bothers me," Aragorn admitted. "How often do you think of Legolas?"

Arwen turned him as she moved, so that they faced one another and could still see the sky. "I think of him when I am about to fall asleep, because I am afraid he will appear in my dreams."

Aragorn frowned. "You've had nightmares?"

Arwen shook her head. "Nay, never. My dreams are beautiful, and I have told you before what they are of."

"You walk with the ones who are lost to you," he replied, cupping her cheek. "So if Legolas appears…"

"If _anyone_ appears, it is because I will not see them again as long as my spirit occupies this body. I think of you, too, and I fear for the day you appear in them. Oh, those dreams will be wonderful, but when I wake it will hurt all the more." Arwen stroked his bare back, as though to assure herself that this, too, was not a dream.

Aragorn had no answer for that, so he returned to their original line of talk. "I do not think of those I have lost so often. They are still as dear to me as ever, but my heart does not ache for them as it once did, and their memories sometimes go soft around the edges. Legolas…I had not thought of him since we received the letter from your brothers last week, and before then not for a month. How can it be that I do not care?"

Arwen laughed merrily, which puzzled Aragorn. She kissed his nose. "My love, listen to yourself! How could you be so worried about this if you did not care?" This gave Aragorn pause, and as he began to blush Arwen laughed again. "Oh Estel, you will never give up on Legolas or stop loving him. If he returns, your feelings will grow strong again. If he does not, then they will remain dulled so that news of his loss strikes you like a fist, and not a blade. Be well pleased with yourself, for you are the noblest of men and your heart is large enough to hold all Middle Earth, along with a few bits of Valinor."

Aragorn returned her smile then, and as the sun rose and the streets below them began to fill, they returned to their room to proceed with whatever the day held. Thoughts of their many friends nestled deep into their hearts, contented even if they were not on the forefront of the busy minds of Gondor's king and queen.

**XXX**

The Grey Havens were just as beautiful as Merry remembered them. The wide Gulf of Lune sparkled before them, and on each side rose beautiful granite buildings surrounded by pale gardens and ivy. There were several ships moored in the harbor, and the largest of these had a sturdy ramp raised up to its side. Elves were carrying things up the ramp from several wagons that stood by. Other elves milled around the area, some happy and others looking worse than Legolas.

Merry glanced over at their elf. Legolas was looking around him with the expression of one who had been woken too early and still clung to sleep. His eyes kept flicking back to the sea, and he drunk the air as if he had been drowning.

"Lord Legolas!"

Merry turned in the direction of the voice. Two elves were walking towards them. One he recognized as Lord Celeborn, and the other was a stranger with very long, dark hair. There was something vaguely familiar about the second elf, but Merry couldn't quite place him.

Legolas greeted them with a vague nod. "Lord Celeborn, Master Erestor."

"I see you have brought some friends along," said Celeborn. "It is a pleasure to see you once more, good Master Hobbits." The two elves bowed their heads.

"The pleasure is ours," Sam replied as the hobbits returned the gesture. Still Merry's eyes drifted to the one called Erestor.

The corner of Celeborn's mouth bent upward. "Master Erestor, I believe you have met these fine hobbits before? You likened them to my grandsons at the time, I believe."

That was it! Erestor had been the stern elf in Rivendell, one who had chastised Pippin and him all those years ago for making too much noise. Merry guessed that this elf must be sailing as well, for Gimli had mentioned that the elves of Ithilien were not alone on their journey. He studied Erestor as he would not have thought to in his youth, and noticed that the dark, stern eyes were worn and sad; they were eyes that had seen too much. This was an old elf, though how old he could not guess, and Merry thought that perhaps they had judged him a little too quickly before.

"I liken them to your grandsons again, now they are fully grown," said Erestor. "You have a noble bearing that befits your status as heroes, my lords."

"Our thanks," said Merry. "We also have younglings a plenty now to make up for the mischief we caused you."

Erestor smiled. "May they take after you always, then. Now if you will excuse me, I must make the final preparations to board." He bowed to them again and walked in the direction of the ship.

"We must do the same," said Celeborn, placing a hand on Legolas' shoulder in order to gain the elf's ever-wandering attention. There was a pause as Celeborn waited until Legolas' full attention was fixed on him, then he asked, "Are you ready to leave, Legolas?"

"Just…just about, my lord. But if I may, I would have a word with you before we sail." Legolas glanced back at Merry and the others with a tiny smile. "And also a moment to say farewell."

"We do not intend to sail until the tide is high, just before the sun sets. However, I have business aboard the ship. If you will meet me on the deck in some minutes, we can converse," suggested Celeborn.

Legolas nodded. "As you will, my lord."

Celeborn held his hand out over the hobbits and Gimli. "Fare thee well, then, great ones, now and for always. I do not intend to set foot on this land again. You have my blessings, and that of all Elvendom."

"Safe journey," said Sam.

"Aye, may the wind be with you," Gimli added.

Celeborn bowed to them once more, then made his way on board the waiting ship. Merry could not help but feel with his leaving a great deal of the deep power rooted in Middle Earth was gone to sleep, for no mortal or immortal remained who could control it as the great elf lords had. The feelings of great loss only increased as he turned to face Legolas once more. Legolas had a look of the utmost concentration on his face, and his body was rigid; Merry could tell he was fighting the distraction of the sea with all his might, at least for this one last time.

"My friends, do not look so troubled!" Legolas declared. "I will come back once I have spoken to Lord Celeborn, if good-byes are in order."

"If?" Pippin repeated, his eyes lighting with hope.

Legolas wrung his hands. "Please do not look quite so pleased. I am…I find myself…I must talk to Lord Celeborn."

Merry frowned as the elf turned from them to rummage through his bag. What was it he had to talk to Celeborn about? Merry desperately wanted to ask, but held his tongue, and was pleased when Pippin did likewise though the questions seemed ready to burst from him. The years had made neither hobbit less inquisitive, only given them the wisdom to know when it was best to ask.

Legolas' face was brighter when he turned back to them, holding several items in his hands. "I wanted to give these to you now, lest I…I do not want to forget. Here, Master Samwise." Legolas placed a beautiful wooden box in Sam's hands, with carved flowers and gold leafing. There was a small gold lock on the front, and when Sam tried to raise the lid he found it stuck fast. Legolas reached into his pocket and produced an identical pair of tiny keys on a mithril chain, and placed the chain around Sam's neck. "Keep care of those, for no amount of picking will open the lock. Right now there are seeds from Ithilien within, ones I think will grow well in the Shire. When the box is empty you may replace the seeds with whatever you wish. Anything within that box, so long as it is locked, will not decay with time, nor will anyone be able to open it without one of those keys."

"Thank you, Legolas," Sam replied, his voice filled with awe as he gaped at the box, then the elf.

"Consider it repayment for your hospitality, for it is not near enough to thank you for your all else you have done," said Legolas. Then he took Merry's hands, and made him hold them out. Into them he placed three leather scroll-casings, each with elvish words and pictures marking the outside. "The red casing holds a map I am particularly fond of, and I thought you might be as well," Legolas explained. "It is very detailed, and very old. It goes with the scroll in the brown case, for it has marks for the important parts of the tale. It tells of the old days, when Greenwood was young. The blue case contains my translation of that scroll, and I am sorry if the writing is poor. That too is old! I made it during my schooling, as I learned to write in Common Speech."

Merry ran his fingers over the smooth leather, excitement building in him. He loved maps almost as much as Bilbo had, and he was surprised that Legolas had remembered. But the scroll in the blue case would be his most treasured. "You wrote out a whole history, Legolas?"

"Oh yes. It only took a year or two, and my father insisted upon it before I could help him with the trade negotiations," Legolas replied, as though it was the most common of occurrences. Then again, Merry thought, it probably was for the immortal son of a king.

"Thank you!" Merry exclaimed, carefully bestowing the casings in his own pack.

"You are most welcome." As with the others, Legolas took Pippin's hands and placed his gift into the open palms. Merry did not recognize the strange silver device in Pippin's hand, and from the look on his cousin's face, neither did Pippin.

"Ah, thank you," said Pippin. "It is…very pretty." Indeed it was. The silver of it glinted in the sun, and it had several sides with carved figures and bright jewels.

Legolas almost smiled. "It is a puzzle," Legolas explained. "You twist the sides so that the pictures and words match up, and it will open. There are many ways to finish it; each time you do a different part will unlock, and you will find something inside. Be warned, it is a great challenge, meant to keep the most intelligent of minds occupied for decades – which is probably why I never finished it!"

Pippin grinned sincerely then. "I may not be the most intelligent, but I must be one of the most determined. Thank you!"

"May its secrets bring you blessings."

Last of all Legolas turned to Gimli. The dwarf blushed under his beard. "No more gifts for me, lad. Our time together has been enough."

Legolas shook his head. "Elvellon, you already know that all I have left in Ithilien is yours. But if you refuse that once more, do not refuse this." He pulled on the dwarves rough hands and placed them palm-up in front of him. Then Legolas took one of his long knives from their place at his back, pulled one gold braid outside of the black headband, and cut it off. He deftly tied off the end before handing it to the stunned dwarf.

"Legolas…I…you didn't have to…" Gimli stuttered.

Legolas drew Gimli into a hug, which Merry watched with equal parts mirth and grief. "There is nothing I would not do for you Gimli, were it within my power." He released the dwarf quickly. Then Legolas spoke to Gimli in a manner that left Merry completely befuddled, and he wondered if the sea longing had once again made the elf take leave of his senses: "I must ask: I dreamt…but I think I was not dreaming. Did you mean what you said?"

Gimli was quiet for a minute, and Merry watched his face carefully. The dwarf's eyebrows were low over his eyes, and he played with the ends of his beard with the hand that was not gripping Legolas' hair. "Aye lad, I did."

Legolas only nodded in response to this, before a sharp whistle made him turn to the ship. He never quite looked them in the eyes again. One ear, or what Merry could see of it under the black headband, was always cocked toward the sea. "I…need to go. Talk to…talk…see…sea…"

"You wanted to talk with Lord Celeborn," Gimli prompted gently, showing that endless, unexpected patience that he had given to the elf each time Legolas had lost himself in Merry's presence, and likely anywhere else. "Go on. We'll go and have something to eat, and you can come find us to say good-bye before you leave."

"Yes, of course," said Legolas. Gimli helped move Legolas in the direction of the ship, until they reached the plank and one of the other elves helped him on board. Merry shared a look of concern with Pippin and Sam. There were times when Legolas seemed so normal, almost like he was ready to stay with them or return to Ithilien. Then instantly he would have no more presence of mind than little Primrose, and all the melancholy of an aged mortal. What if he fell overboard in one of those moments? What if he did something ridiculous, like _jump_?

Merry shook his head. There were plenty of able elves like Lord Celeborn on board, and they would take care of Legolas on the journey, perhaps give him better care than he and his mortal cousins could.

"Come on, lads," Gimli said when he returned to them. "One of them working elves said we could find food in here." He led them into one of the buildings, and there they stayed for many hours talking. None of them really ate; Merry pushed the fruit and bread around on his plate, and he could not bring himself to take a piece of fish from the main dish in the middle of their table. He drank wine, but mostly water, for everything tasted pallid to him.

What they talked of Merry never could recall in full. He was fairly certain they made a depressing bunch, all toying with their food and trying not to think about the fact that they were about to be forever sundered from another of their friends. Merry was certain they had shared a few good stories about their memories of the Fellowship; not just of Legolas but of Frodo, Gandalf, and Boromir, too. Gimli told them of meeting the Lady Rían, who had been Boromir's intended, and Merry felt his heart grow even heavier.

"Don't let that darken your thoughts," said Gimli, "her story ends happily, I believe, for her ring was forged of love and not a lust for power. She lives now in Emyn Arnen with Lord Faramir, who was her friend in childhood. Whether she will love again I do not know, but I would not be surprised if she were to wed some noble ranger, for she is brave and men call her fair. She gets along well with Lady Eowyn, not only because she saved young Elboron, but because they are of a like mind. She will heal." Then, more to himself he added, "All will heal, in due time."

"It will," said Merry earnestly. He felt that now they had gotten Legolas to the Havens, there was no turning back nor further need to help the elf. What was needed now was comfort for the rest of them, especially the dwarf who had come so far only to lose all hope. "You will come and stay with us for a while, won't you, Gimli? You could stay with me in Brandy Hall, Estella won't mind. That way Sam can have his rooms back! You are all welcome, of course."

Gimli offered a thin smile. "I think I'd like that very much. I must send a letter to Bree, of course, and warn our guard of how long we'll be in returning. A letter to Aragorn, too, to let him know when we might be coming, and…and who will not be coming."

Sam cleared his throat and raised his glass. "I propose a toast, to our Fellowship. May the bonds be stronger even as they are stretched."

Merry raised his wine along with the others and drank it down with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Here he was with a whole, elf-sized glass of the best wine the Havens had to offer, and he could not finish it. Nothing else so sad could happen for quite some time, he decided, for he was ill-prepared to handle it. Merry had believed he had worked through Frodo's departure long ago, but his heart ached as much for the companions he had lost years ago as for the one he was sure to lose today.

Sighing, he glanced at one of the high windows and noticed it had gotten quite late. "Perhaps we should go back out to the harbor and look for Legolas ourselves?" he suggested. "Maybe he can't find out where we've gone."

Gimli pushed back his chair. "Aye, the fool elf can't find his way anywhere without me. I'd like to see that all those other elves have gotten on the ship, too. Some of 'em looked right ready to drop when we left them at the road."

"Excuse me, my lords," called a blonde elf in a grey dress who had just entered the room. She had a far-off look in her eye, and though her face was set Merry could tell she had been crying. "Did you say you wanted to watch the ship?"

"Yes," Pippin replied. "Why?"

"You had best hurry. I left my father on board, but I could not bear to watch him once they started moving. It will be a good journey; the wind is with them," she answered, before subsiding stiffly into a nearby chair and staring out the windows that faced away from the harbor.

Gimli let out groan and raced out of the room, down the hall, and back out to the docks, with the hobbits trailing after him as fast as their legs could carry. When they came in sight of the bay, Merry choked on his breath, for the place where the large ship had been was empty and the plank had been drawn off to one side. The ship itself was still close enough to be seen clearly, and when Merry ran out on the dock he could make out the faces of Celeborn and Erestor standing at the stern along with many other elves. Legolas, however, was not among them.

Gimli pulled on his beard with one hand and waved to the ship with the other. "Come back!" he cried. "Legolas, you promised not to leave without saying good-bye! Damn you, how could you forget that? Damn the sea, damn those men, damn, damn, damn it all!"

The breeze stung Merry's face, and he realized he was crying. It was true then. Legolas must have gotten caught in the sea longing and forgotten his promise to see them again before he sailed. Perhaps he had become too weak to even wave to them from the deck. Images of Legolas collapsing against Celeborn filled his head, and he found himself pulling in vain at Gimli's arms. "Stop it! Stop, he couldn't help it, he must be so sick! Don't let this be the last thoughts we send with him. Please," Merry begged, "let's just say good-bye."

Gimli remained tense, but he released his beard and stopped yelling. Instead, the dwarf bowed low in the direction of the boat. Merry followed his example, as did Pippin and Sam on the other side. When they looked up, many of the elves were returning the gesture. Lord Celeborn raised his hand, and the hobbits started waving madly at the departing ship.

"Namarié!" Merry cried. "Farewell! Say hullo to Frodo, and Bilbo, and Gandalf! We won't forget any of you, not ever!"


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

Just one chapter left after this! Sorry it took me so long to get it posted; I've been really busy, so I can't promise the last one will be up anytime soon. Thank you so much for your reviews! I actually re-arranged this entire chapter twice because I decided you deserved a more complex ending than I had planned. Hopefully those changes will be to your satisfaction; enjoy!

* * *

It had started as a soft, soothing noise, like the steady running of a river. But it grew, and as it grew the notes varied, until it was not just noise but a song. The words were ever-changing, if indeed there were words at all, but the music was filled with all the longing, all the pain, all the joys of the First Born who had crossed to Valinor. He could fight the noise, but once he could hear the song, he knew himself lost.

It was the sweetest sound in all the world, so sweet it could call an elf to drown themselves if only to hear that song for a little longer. It was the power of the Valar, it was the last cries of long-dead brothers-in-arms, it was the lullaby of the mother he had lost as a child, it was his own voice echoed back to him: "_To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying, the wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying…_"* Together these voices slid into his ears and burrowed deep into his soul, pulling until he felt himself nearly slip free of his body.

_Legolas_

Who was Legolas?

_Thranduilion!_

Someone searching for a son…

_Legolas!_

Was that him?

"Legolas!" This muffled call was accompanied by a sharp pain. The song fell away, his soul tumbled back into his body, and he discovered that he was indeed this Legolas, the son of Thranduil.

And someone had just slapped him.

Legolas rubbed his sore cheek and stared at the elf standing above from him, who still had one hand raised as if to strike again. "Lord Celeborn?"

"My apologies, Legolas. I was afraid for you, and I thought a shock might bring you back to us. It seems to work on some of the others, though I hope hitting sick elves does not need to become a habit of mine. Are you alright?"

Legolas opened eyes that he had squeezed shut against the pain in his head. He suddenly realized that he had no idea how much time had passed, or exactly why he was sitting in front of Lord Celeborn. How he hated this! Everyone had been so patient with him, but it was frustrating to be so lost all of the time. "I'm sorry my lord, I…I don't know…"

Celeborn sighed and returned to his own seat across the table. "It's alright. I'm actually impressed; we've been talking for some time now, and this is the first time you really succumbed to the sea."

Ah! That was it. He had come to talk to Lord Celeborn, to ask the wisest of elves whether he should go to Valinor or remain in Middle Earth, and he was sure they had been here for some time now. They had walked on the deck together, and then come here, but what happened when they had reached Celeborn's cabin Legolas could not remember. He hoped he hadn't made a decision yet; he did not feel as if he had, but it was entirely possible they were already sailing away. Nay! Surely he would not have forgotten his goodbyes with Gimli and the hobbits.

"Why does it affect me so?" asked Legolas, with the vague feeling he had already said something to the same effect. "I have seen some of the others from Ithilien, and they seem much improved. In fact, Finmar and Niniel were in good spirits."

"I can only guess it is the very fact that you continue to fight the call that makes it so much more difficult for you now. Finmar and Niniel, as well as your other companions, have surrendered themselves to the west, but you sit here and remain unsure," Celeborn answered.

Legolas rubbed his temples again and tried to ignore the sound of the bay lapping against the ship's hull. They were otherwise alone in a small, beautiful cabin on board the Valinor-bound ship, but he seemed to recall other elves coming in to speak with Celeborn before. "If you are needed elsewhere–" he began.

Celeborn cut him off. "No, not yet. I must go up to the deck again soon, but first…look at me, Legolas." Legolas did, and found Celeborn was watching him carefully from across the small wooden table. Then the elf-lord leaned forward. "I am going to tell you something that only my wife and two others are aware of. You know that the Lady Celebrian is my daughter, correct, and you have heard what happened to her?"

Legolas nodded, though he was baffled as to what Celeborn could possibly want to tell him about this forbidden subject. He had only met Lady Celebrian a few times before she was poisoned and chose to sail, but he recalled her with some affection. He had joined the twins' orc hunting spree after her attack, and so knew more than most about her story, but even among them he would not dare to mention the incident. "Aye, my lord. I know of her, and have lamented her long absence from her family."

"None more than I," said Celeborn, "for I am the one who sent her away."

Any tendrils of the sea-song that had been creeping into Legolas' ears immediately retreated. "Lord Celeborn?" he choked.

"I went to Imladris when she was suffering, and for long hours we closed the doors and spoke together, much the same as you and I. In the end, I told her to sail to Valinor as soon as she could travel. It broke my heart, but I have not regretted it for even a moment of my life. When I looked into her eyes that day, I saw that her light was gone. The only way to rekindle a light is to retreat to Valinor, or to abandon the body altogether. Now, Legolas, I have watched your light these many weeks. It flickers, falters, waxes and wanes. But it is not out, and that makes your choice all the more difficult."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that it may be you are dying, but you are not yet dead, nor beyond all hope in Middle Earth. If Lothlorien was still strong, I would tell you to rest under the eaves of the blessed woods for a time. But, as my lady predicted, you shall have no peace under tree, for there are none now left who might turn your heart to them."

"Then I shall die if I stay," said Legolas.

Celeborn frowned. "Perhaps, but I think not. I think you are too stubborn an elf for that, nor would you put such a burden on your friends. No, if you stayed and could not heal you would linger, the thrall of the song until it drove you mad."

Legolas imagined an aged Gimli trying still to care for him, as he stared to the west and drooled on some cave floor. "Dying seems the fairer fate; yet you said _if_. Do you think there is a way I could heal?"

"Heal, no; you will only heal in Valinor. But I do believe you would _endure_, and madness would claim you only after the passing of your friends," he explained.

"Then you think I should stay?"

Celeborn smiled sadly. "I think your choice is not an easy one, nor is it one I can make for you. Trust me, knowing the tale of my child, that I would tell you to leave if I thought the path was certain." Then he stood up. "I am sorry I cannot give you an easy answer."

Celeborn went back out on the deck, leaving Legolas alone to contemplate all that had been said – or at least what of it he could remember. Of course, he had been left in about the same place he had begun. Even the wisest was unable to tell him which course to choose! He should have remembered what the hobbits were always repeating, "Do not go to the elves for advice, for they say both yes and no."** Only Gimli had been willing to give him a straight answer, and that seemed to have come from a dream long ago. He could recall nothing surrounding Gimli's promise; only that he had said Legolas should go to Valinor, and that they would meet again.

The ringing in his ears returned again, and Legolas put his hands over his face. This was the source of his headaches, always focused just around his left ear. The sound was blurred, but sharp, like hearing all of the sea's song at once. It was a terrible noise, and Legolas often let himself be taken by the sea longing only to ease the pain. This time he fought it, hoping to keep his head clear. It was no use, really; Celeborn was right. This would drive him mad before the end, and he would rather leave than have his friends see him like this. Better to go now, while Gimli was still willing to let him and all was prepared, than later when he would need a nursemaid to keep him from falling overboard.

Gingerly he stood, for the ringing was still there, and went up to the deck to inform Celeborn. He saw the elf-lord standing near the edge and calling to the ship's captain. They were overseeing the loading of the last of their supplies via a pulley system, This time a pile of barrels filled with fresh water was being hoisted into the air above them, tied together with a few lines of elvish rope. Legolas walked over to Celeborn with one hand on the rail of the ship to keep himself steady. He was fighting hard not to let the sea pull him in again, but the headache was terribly distracting and it was getting increasingly difficult to concentrate.

Celeborn turned from his work with a look of concern. "Your head again, Legolas?"

"It will pass, and if not I have herbs for it," Legolas replied, though he had no memory what he had done with them. "I only came to tell you that I…I have made the decision to sail, and I wish to leave the ship a moment to say goodbye to my friends."

Celeborn nodded. "Of course; I will make sure we await your return, though I ask you not take too long. Your choice is…"

The rest of what Celeborn said was lost in the sound of a wave crashing against Legolas' ear, momentarily washing away the ringing.

"Legolas? …alright?"

Above them a gull cried out, and Legolas could not fight any longer. He let his gaze stray towards the bird as the sounds around him died out and only the call remained. The gull swooped around the masts of the ship, then out across the sky and back again, flying further into the harbor. As it passed it snapped at the main line of the pulley the elves were using. The bird flew on, but there was something about the rope that arrested Legolas' attention; something important, though he couldn't quite place it. It was elvish rope, colored green in places by the water when it was used to moor boats. Good rope, strong rope, old rope. Very old. Old enough to have weakened from the water. Old rope, no longer strong, fraying rope, ready to break. Slowly Legolas forced himself to follow the line of rope down to see what damage it might have. His panic rose. The captain of the ship stood beneath the barrels, directing the other elves to move them over the open hold before lowering them into the belly of the ship. The gull cried out, and again it snapped at the rope. Perhaps the rope tasted of fish from its time in the harbor, or else the bird was mad, for it repeated the action again, until the rope shifted under a load it could no longer bear.

Legolas tried to cry out a warning, but his voice would not work. The sound of the sea was still crashing over him, and half his mind was under its sway. Lord Celeborn did not see the danger because he was worrying for Legolas, and no one else seemed to notice. There was no time. Legolas put all of his will into forcing himself to move, though he felt as though he was running in slow motion. He reached the captain just as the rope gave, and pushed him clear. Legolas was nearly as lucky, but the edge of something caught him in the side of the head and he fell senseless to the deck.

**XXX**

The pain in his head was intense, and Legolas almost let himself pass out again. But someone was touching him, tapping his shoulders, and he had received enough head injuries to know it was best to stay awake, even if he was not quite sure what had happened. He tried to open his eyes, but the left one was heavy with some sticky substance. He recalled that feeling, the pain in his ear, the blood running down his face…Gwarod! Legolas forced his eyes open and tried to sit up, but gentle hands pressed him back to the deck. He relaxed; they must have been back in their cage, and Faramir was trying to see to his wound.

"What happened, Faramir?" he murmured. Or he tried to; his voice sounded very far away, and even he could not recognize the words. He swallowed and tried again, but nothing changed.

A wet cloth was drawn gently over the left side of his face, and Legolas decided he must look very sorry indeed if Gwarod had allowed them to have some water. He opened his eyes fully, and a figure swam before his face. He blinked, and saw clearly that it was not Faramir.

"Lord Celeborn! Then we are saved?" he tried to say, but the words still would not come out right.

Then Legolas noticed something strange. Celeborn's mouth was moving, but no sound came out. Legolas frowned. Celeborn frowned in return, laying a hand on Legolas' forehead and moving his mouth at someone Legolas could not see. Legolas turned his head slowly, and saw Erestor and several other elves had gathered around him. The sky above him was clear, and there were sails above him, along with a wheeling gull and a broken rope.

Legolas shut his eyes as the memories came flooding back. He was not with Faramir at all, but on a ship to Valinor. So much had happened since Gwarod had cut his ears, since the sea longing had claimed him in full and that terrible ringing had begun. But then, the ringing…he did not hear it! His head hurt terribly, especially his left ear, but the ringing was gone.

"He seems to think we are back in Ithilien," Celeborn was saying to his right. He could make out the words now, but there was still something wrong.

Legolas whipped his head around, much to his regret when the pain intensified. "Why are you speaking like that?" he asked, and this time he could make out his own words. But they were muffled, as though he was trying to call out from below the deck.

Celeborn moved his hand from Legolas' forehead to his shoulder. "Relax, Legolas. You are not in Ithilien anymore, and have not been for some time. But you have taken an injury to the head just now, and it is likely you have a concussion."

"I know where I am," Legolas replied after a moment. Celeborn's words were unclear, and it took him a moment to work them out. "I am on the ship in Lindon. But I want to know why…" he trailed off, as an explanation dawned on him. To his right he could hear the bay, the mummer of other elves, and the creaking of the ship's boards. To his left, all was silent. Gingerly he raised his hand to the left side of his head and pushed away the cloth Erestor held there. The area was tender and slick with blood, though he had to admit he was relieved to find his headband was still in place. But now the blood stemmed from all around his ear, and inside of it. His eyes widened and he turned slowly back to Celeborn. "My lord, I do not think I can hear."

Celeborn paled and looked over Legolas' head. He nodded, then turned back to Legolas and turned his head gently. The long fingers probed around his ear, and he briefly lifted the headband to look under it. Then he moved Legolas so that he was facing the sky again, and spoke into his right ear. "I will find a healer for you, Legolas, to have a better look. But I know that it is possible to be stricken deaf from such wounds, and sometimes they are only temporary. It is strange, though, that you have not lost your hearing entirely. It may be the blood; we will take you to shore."

Legolas signaled his understanding, and with one arm around Celeborn and the other around Erestor he managed to get to his feet and walk off the ship. This was not the way he had intended to disembark, and he hoped that Gimli was not watching now. He would never hear the end of this adventure! That was, if he heard at all.

He was helped to an airy, light room and laid on a soft bed. The healer, an elleth called Iril who had silver hair, saw to him immediately, and gave him herbs for the pain. They were much stronger than the ones Elrohir and Elladan had given him for his headaches, so he felt only sore when the healer washed away the blood and prodded at him. He was glad none but Iril and Celeborn were present when she removed his bloody headband, for both were respectful of the ruin hidden there.

Legolas had to leave his right ear face down in the pillow so they could work, and he could not hear what was said. Instead he responded to their gestures as best he could, and then stared out the open window. The light hurt his eyes, but he begged them not to close the blinds. From here he could see the wide expanse of the sea beyond the bay. It was more beautiful than he had imagined, and his heart fluttered with joy at the sight. But the strange thing was, though the very sight and smell of the place filled him with the longing to sail, with his ear pressed against the pillow and the other deaf, the siren song of the sea did not take hold. There was no ringing, no crash of waves, no song or voice or lullaby. For the first time in years, his world was wonderfully, peacefully, silent.

Legolas thought long while he lay there, and drew strength from the silence. He could handle this. He could handle pain, and he could handle the leaping of his heart at the sight and smell and taste of salt on his lips. It had always been the cries of the gulls or the silken song of the water that drew him from his senses. Would it be so bad, really, if he were rid of it forever? So wondrous was the silence to him that he barely considered the hardships, or the embarrassment he might face as a half-deaf elf. Why, if this was the beauty of silence, he would knock himself on the other side!

At last Celeborn gently turned him onto his back and helped him to sit up some against the pillows the healer had put in place behind him. Celeborn's face was grave, but Legolas had a feeling he would not be nearly as upset by the news as they believed he would. Iril asked him a few questions and looked him over once more, before nodding to Celeborn. Apparently they had decided it would be best for someone familiar to inform Legolas of what had happened.

"Well Legolas," he began, "you are indeed concussed, and will be sore for quite a while after this. But that can be remedied. I am afraid that you were also correct about your hearing: your left ear receives no sound, and it is unlikely that we can reverse the problem. Of course, it is possible that you will not suffer long, since the greatest of healers reside in Valinor, and they…might…" Celeborn trailed off, and looked at Legolas as though he had gone mad. Legolas thought that this was entirely possible, for when he had heard there was nothing to be done, he had begun to laugh. It made his head spin, he could not stop himself, and a wild, joyous relief flooded through his entire body.

"My lord, are you well?" asked Iril. "Perhaps you should lay down again, you've had quite a lot of trouble today, and your system may be in shock."

Legolas parried her hands. "Nay! I am well – better than I have been, in fact!"

"Legolas, I think you need to rest," said Celeborn.

"You don't understand!" Legolas replied. "It's gone, and this means it's gone for good!"

Celeborn frowned. "What is gone?"

"The song, I cannot hear the song! The ringing has stopped!" He laughed again, and then smiled at Celeborn. "Do you know, I think that even if I do hear a gull, the song will not take me. You cannot call a half-deaf elf if he turns his head!"

Iril looked to Celeborn. "Is it possible?"

Celeborn crooked his eyebrows. "I do not see why not, though I have never heard of such a thing! The few deaf elves I have known have sailed to Valinor, unable to continue here with their disability. But I have never met one who was only half-deaf."

"How did this happen to me?" asked Legolas, his voice filled with more wonder than concern.

Here Celeborn hesitated and grew serious again, and Iril looked upon him with pity. "We believe it is because of your old injuries," he answered at last. "Gwarod meant to cut the edges of your ears alone, but he was not careful about it. It is difficult to tell from the way it has healed, but his knife must have slipped down through the back of your ear and cut into the inner structure. You would not have noticed, pained as you were. But it healed strangely, and the damage was never set right."

Iril continued. "When the barrel knocked into your head, it antagonized some of the old wounds and created new ones. I can repair some of the damage, but I do not know any healer this side of the sea with the skills to put everything back together. There is so much scar tissue, inside and out. It's almost blocked off your ear."

"Then the ringing…it wasn't from the sea longing, was it?" said Legolas.

"Ringing? I have never heard of an elf suffering from the call of the sea complain of hearing ringing, though many have headaches," Celeborn explained. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I assumed it was the sea." It was the ringing that made him so miserable, and his hatred spurred again knowing Gwarod had caused it. How unfortunate that a man could only be killed once.

Celeborn pressed his hand against Legolas' shoulder, and the warmth of the touch brought him some comfort. "There is more," said Celeborn. "You have been seriously hurt, Legolas, and we deem it best to warn you that the journey to Valinor would be likely to cause you great agony because of your ear. It would be best for you to remain here a while longer, and take the next ship. Unless the longing is too great; I know it has made you very sick, and if you believe you must go today I promise to help you along the journey."

Legolas closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This morning, such news would have been devastating to him. But now – his lips slowly spread into a smile. "No. I will not take this ship, nor any other until I can hear the song of the sea in full once more. If that day never comes, then I shall wait until there are no more people here who love me so dearly that they are willing to sacrifice their own comfort for mine."

"That, too, is a dangerous road," Celeborn warned. "Do not forget what I have already told you. Just because you cannot hear the song now does not mean it will not return, nor that the longing will not grow in you without it."

"Then I shall endure as long as I can," Legolas replied. There was no doubt in him now; without the call of the sea, without the ringing and the unceasing noise, he could think clearly. This was the path he was meant to take. Bless the Valar-sent gull who robbed him of his hearing!

"Are you sure?" asked Celeborn. His eyes strayed to the window, and when Legolas turned his head he saw that sunset was fast approaching.

Legolas took a moment to think; his heart held no doubt, but his mind could not help weighing the options one last time. If he did not leave now, the longing would return, and he might have to go through this again. His body was still weak, and the pains in his head and ear were swiftly returning. These he would have to deal with whether he stayed or sailed. If he sailed, he could never come back. If he stayed he might go mad. If he sailed, he would be healed. If he stayed, he would be with his friends. _His friends_; their lives were so short, and already he had put them through so much. The thought of not seeing them again caused his heart to constrict.

"Yes, my lord. I am sure."

Celeborn nodded. "Then I must take my leave. I will have your possessions removed from the ship."

"Only the two packs that are marked with the seal of my house, please, and my knives. The rest I would ask you to keep until such a time as I am able to retrieve it, save for the brown satchel I carried on board. That you must go through, for it contains letters I swore to see delivered."

"I shall see your errand done, if you will promise to look after my grandchildren," said Celeborn.

Legolas grinned, "On my right ear, I swear it."

The edge of Celeborn's mouth drew up. "I pray that you are able to do far more than endure, and thrive in the company of those you hold so dear. We will meet again, someday."

Celeborn bowed and started for the door, but at the last moment something more occurred to Legolas. Perhaps he could find a way to thrive forever after, if the Valar were willing. "My lord! Wait one moment, if you will."

Celeborn turned back. "Yes?"

"I would ask you to pass on a message to your lady wife, concerning a favor for a friend who is very dear to both of us…"

**XXX**

The hobbits continued to wave madly at the departing ship, shouting after them, "Namarié, namarié!"

Gimli clutched the breast pocket of his tunic where he had placed Legolas' braid, watching the ship that carried him get smaller and smaller in the distance. "Alas for Legolas!" he cried. "We shall never see him again, lest at the ending of this world."

One of the ship hands stopped at this and said, "Have you not heard? Lord Legolas is not on board that ship! There was an accident, and he was injured in trying to save the ship's captain, as I heard it. They took him off, and never back on."

The hobbits shouted in alarm, and Gimli growled, "Show me to him!"

The elf pointed to one of the near buildings. "Ask within, someone there will know. Take heart! He was walking, though aided, last I saw."

Gimli barely heard the last of what was said, for he was already heading to the building. He felt like throttling these elves, _especially _Legolas! One of these days his heart was simply going to stop working from the strain of it all, and then he would quite enjoy the peace of the halls where all dwarves went to sleep. But not yet; first he had to make sure the elf was still alive, so that he could kill Legolas himself. Not on the ship! "He had better be dying," he muttered to himself, then worried that Legolas _was_ dying and ran faster.

Inside, he let Pippin speak with the elves. His temper was getting the better of him, and he did not want to insult the ones who could take them to Legolas. On second thought, he did want to insult them, but now was not the time. Pippin thanked the elf who directed them up two flights of stairs and down the left hall, and then they were off again.

There were only three rooms on the left hall of the third floor, and two of them were open and empty. Gimli restrained himself from simply busting down the doors of the third room and yelling at the damned fool. After all, if he had been hurt enough that it kept him from sailing, Legolas must be very bad off indeed. With a deep breath and a count to ten, Gimli gently opened the door and entered the room. It was small, and all in white, with the last pale fingers of the sun stretching across it. A silver-haired elven woman was leaning over a table and blocking the bed. She looked up when they entered and bowed her head, then put a finger to her lips.

"He sleeps. Forgive me my lords, they just told me that no one came for you. I thought Lord Celeborn would have; but of course, we were preoccupied," she whispered.

Gimli wanted to say a great deal to her, but settled for glaring. "What state be he in, other than asleep?"

"Concussed, and…well, the rest is his lot to tell. He'll sleep a while longer now, perhaps until dawn, but I thought it best. You may sit by him if you like, and I'll have some rooms made up for you," the healer replied.

The rest? Gimli did not dare to wonder at what that might mean, but he was too furious to speak. Then brave Samwise gave a polite little nod and replied for them all. "Thank ye kindly, ma'am. But do you think we could stay in here? We almost lost him today, in many ways."

The healer smiled. "I will find an extra couch for you, though I don't think there will be enough room for all of you."

"We won't mind taking turns in the chairs," said Merry.

"As you will, my lords. Mind you sit on his right side, and don't upset his head. I will return to check on him, and I'll have someone bring the couch and some food." She left them then, but Gimli barely noticed now that he could see Legolas, laid out under a white sheet that was drawn up to his chest. The elf's skin was pale, and the bandage wrapped around his head was thicker and wider than the usual black headband Legolas wore, and spotted on one side with blood. It was far too much like arriving at the funeral to see the elf lying beside an open grave, prepared for death. Gimli's legs suddenly felt weak.

He was surprised to find himself supported by Merry and Sam to a chair left at the side of the bed, opposite the open window. The sea breeze, cursed as it was, refreshed him greatly, and Gimli was soon able to recover himself. He took Legolas' hand in between his and looked at the strangely closed eyes. "Alright ye mad elf, this is the last time I sit by your sick bed, understand? I'm getting too old for this kind of thing. Nearly stopped my heart to think you'd left, and worse when I heard why you'd stayed! Ah, but your leaving when you recover will be difficult."

Sam patted his shoulder. "Perhaps, but we'll be ready for it. It will be alright in the end, you'll see Gimli. It always is."

Merry and Pippin quickly assented that this was so, and Gimli smiled a little at their eternal optimism. "Yes my lads, I suppose it is."

They waited through the night, dozing sometimes, and others quietly gaining more information from the healer Iril about just what had happened. Though she had not been on the boat, Gimli was able to gage the truth of the matter: Legolas had thrown himself at the boat's captain to save him from falling food stores, and had gotten knocked on the head in the process. Some said Legolas must have received a message from the Valar before it happened, because he had acted as one in a trance. Gimli thought this the type of silly elvish fluff that was added to all their songs, but he kept his peace all the same and let the hobbits gaze in renewed wonder at their friend.

When dawn came and Legolas showed no signs of waking, Iril promised it was no true concern yet. Still Gimli and the hobbits were restless to know what it was the healer had kept from them, and to see how well-off Legolas truly was. Gimli was again reminded of the night he arrived in Ithilien, and with a sad smile he began to hum the elvish waking song.

"Hey there, I know that tune!" Pippin exclaimed. "I'm not sure I remember all the words, but I tried to write down as much as I could once."

Gimli paused in his humming. "Remember it? How could you? That's a song Legolas taught me, and as far as I know no one outside his homeland knows it."

"Tom Bombadil sang it once," answered Pippin. "It's a happy tune, isn't it? It refreshes me each time I hear it. I sing it to little Faramir when he has bad dreams, and it chases them right away!" Then Pippin began to softly sing what Gimli eventually recognized as a translation of the woodelves' Cuivad Linnod to the Common Tongue: "Wake now my merry lads! Wake and hear me calling! Warm now be heart and limb! The cold stone is fallen; dark door is standing wide; dead hand is broken. Night under Night is flown, and the Gate is open."**

Gimli took up the song now, in elvish, for it seemed the woodelves had added their own verses to this chorus. When they reached the chorus again, the hobbits joined in together, until they had a merry harmony. Legolas eyes fluttered open then, and as they finished up the last words of the chorus he slowly turned to Gimli and Sam.

"Good morrow, Legolas," said Merry brightly when they had finished. Legolas made no response to this, but groaned and brought his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. Pippin immediately shut the curtains, and Merry frowned. "Should we call for the healer?"

Legolas blinked, and when he spoke his voice sounded a little strange. "Gimli, Sam. How did you get here? Or rather, where…"

At that moment Iril entered, making any summons unnecessary. She moved them aside and asked Legolas some questions. Gimli thought it was strange that she spoke so loudly when noise must have caused Legolas as much pain as the light. "Do you remember where you are, Legolas?"

He thought a moment, looked around, and then understanding dawned in his eyes. "Lindon. I remember now. Ai," he rubbed the side of his head gently, "I certainly remember."

Iril gave him something for the pain, checked his eyes, and then promised to return soon with a light breakfast. She leaned over him to help him sit up a little, and Gimli saw her whisper something into his right ear. Legolas nodded, then she disappeared into the corridor once more. Gimli crossed his arms. "Alright then lad, I've had quite enough of secrets and indecision. What happened to put you here, and what besides a headache have you managed to obtain from your heroics?"

"Did you really save the captain?" asked Pippin, pressing his hand against Legolas' arm.

Legolas turned at the touch and looked at Pippin and his cousin. "Did you say something?" he asked slowly.

Merry crossed his arms. "It isn't very nice to ignore us. Pip and I have been here worried sick for you the same as Gimli and Sam, you know."

Legolas took a moment to think, and then comprehension dawned on his face. "My apologies, I did not know I was ignoring you. Come around to my right; sit on the bed there if you like, there is no room for four chairs."

Merry and Pippin did, while Gimli drew his eyebrows together. He did not like this, not at all. "What's all this about?" he grumbled.

Legolas took a deep breath. "The barrel – when it hit me, it did something to my left ear, made an…an old injury rupture. I cannot hear anything out of it now, and Iril does not believe I ever will."

The hobbits gasped. "No!" Merry exclaimed. "That can't be true, there must be something!" Gimli could only stare dumbfounded, the information working slowly into his brain. Surely there was a mistake…

"Nay, there is nothing. But do not look so distressed! This is a blessing to me. I cannot hear on one side, and the silence is wonderful. It is like the calm after a thunderstorm, when all the world is at rest and you know the danger has passed over." Legolas tried to explain more, but all Gimli understood were two things: his was friends with a half-deaf elf, and that elf was not going to leave him. He didn't know whether to laugh or to cry, and he found himself settling for rage.

"You…YOU…you nasty little spawn of an orc! You leaf-brained, weak-hearted, lying, treacherous creature not fit to walk over or under the earth! Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused me over the past year, and here you are, hurt again beyond repair, and smiling like a drunken fool because of it? I ought to string you up by your hair, send you down a river in a barrel, lock you in with a mother warg!"

Legolas looked shocked, and tried to take his arm. "Gimli…"

Gimli smacked the hand away. "No! You listen to me, elf, with that one good ear of yours. I am never, ever going to forget this, so long as I live, and if you think for one moment I am ever, ever going to let you get away from me again, you are sadly mistaken. I will make you rue this for the rest of your life – that's right, your whole damned immortal existence – and I will beat you with my ax all the way from here to Gondor, all the way from Gondor to Valinor if I have to, until your backside is too sore to sit on!"

"Gimli I'm sorry…" Legolas tried again.

"Of course you are, and you had better be! I thought you were gone, and then I thought you were dead! Again! I can't take much more of this lad! You…you…" his rage spent, Gimli could only wrap both arms around Legolas and hug the elf harder than was comfortable for either of them. "Never again, lad. You understand? Nothing more than stubbed toe, or I'll give you something to see the healers about."

"Of course Gimli," Legolas replied. "Forgive me? Please, my friend, I am so sorry."

There was water between their cheeks, and Gimli was not sure if it came from Legolas' eyes or his own. Not that he would ever admit to it. He pulled back and patted Legolas' shoulder. "Aye lad, I forgive you. How could I not?"

**XXX**

They remained at the Grey Havens for another three days, until Iril declared Legolas was fit to ride back to the Shire. The hobbits spent a lot of the time exploring, and chatting to the elves who actually lived in Lindon. Many of these were very old indeed, and could remember things that had occurred before the Shire itself was born. They even took Merry and Pippin out on small boats around the harbor that they used for fishing, leaving Sam behind at his own request.

Legolas and Gimli, however, kept very much to themselves. Legolas would probably have been content alone, but Gimli refused to leave his side, worried the elf would suddenly change his mind and make an attempt to swim for Valinor. Not permitted to leave his room, Legolas spent much of the time with his face turned towards the open window and his right ear flat against the pillow. He enjoyed the ocean, all its flavor, all its beauty, and all its feeling, in silence.

Gimli enjoyed the company. He would read, or join Legolas in staring out the window, or carve some of the sailors' spare wood until the floor looked like a carpenter's shop. Iril never said a word about the mess she and the others cleaned each night, and in return Gimli made something for each of them, using all of his considerable skill.

The hobbits had agreed to share the room next door, but they too would peak in at times and share a spell of silence with their friends. On more than one occasion they had found Gimli asleep with his hand resting on Legolas' chest, and the elf half-dreaming himself. It was a scene they did not dare to disturb, and with what they knew of all the pair had gone through, a most comforting one.

When Legolas was fully awake they would all talk together, as happily as they had in the days after the war. Merry and Pippin privately agreed that it felt very much like the influence of Sauron had finally left the elf and dwarf, but Sam was not so sure. Darkness never left those who had truly touched it, and though he was too proper a fellow to say so he thought he could feel its taint on all of them, if a little lessened by the fresh air of the sea and the presence of so many fair folk.

When Legolas was deemed healthy enough, he insisted they leave for the Shire immediately. He took a wagon only because he intended to use it to transport the hobbits to Gondor, and refused to ride in it himself as they made their way back to the Shire. So it was that they made their way back along the road: Sam, Merry, and Pippin on their ponies, Legolas and Gimli sharing Arod, and a large brown horse that loyally followed with the wagon at a mere word from Legolas.

The ride was fairly pleasant, though all kept a watchful eye on their elf. Legolas was still adjusting to his lack of hearing, and it was clear that he was still in pain from time to time. Pippin was especially perturbed on the first evening when he looked over to see Legolas slumped against Arod's neck, and Gimli with tears in his eyes. Horror stirred in his heart. "He's not…he can't have…"

His exclamation made Merry and Sam pull their ponies up short with equal dismay, but Gimli shook his head and smiled. "He's sleeping," the dwarf explained. His entire face was full of relief. "He hasn't slept in months. It's real sleep, you see, not that strange dreaming elves do. He needs this."

"Should we stop here then?" asked Sam. "We ought to make him more comfortable."

Again, Gimli shook his head. "I think the horse helps. Damned if I know why; maybe it's the motion, maybe some elvish connection with beasties. Either way, best to leave 'im be."

Pippin grinned as a thought occurred to him. "Gimli, I think you're going soft on us. Do you realize you're sounding grateful for a horse?"

Gimli snorted. "Grateful? Indeed I am! But I will have you know, that has nothing to do with liking the creatures. Or Legolas, for that matter. Don't you go telling everyone between here and Minas Tirith I've turned into his nurse maid, because the moment he's got himself together again I intend to retire, and hein his eternal youth can play nurse to _me_."

"It only seems fair," Merry chuckled. "But Gimli, I would think it sounds rather more like you two are _married_, what with all the care you take of one another."

Pippin nearly fell off his pony laughing, and could not help adding, "But then, whatever will the children be like?" Still laughing, the two urged their ponies to race ahead of the group. The threats that followed them did not sound nearly so scary without the full force of the dwarf's voice to back them up, and Gimli would not dare to wake Legolas now.

"They were only funin', Gimli, you know that," said Sam. Then his face turned beet red. "Of course, if it were true, we'd be 'appy for you and everything. I mean, not that we think it is, but if it were, it wouldn't be so surprisin', and…oh, dear. I'll just, uh…I'll just stay quiet now, so Legolas can get his sleep."

Gimli blushed through his beard. "No, no! I mean, yes, quiet, but, no! We're not…well, elves are simply too…they've got no hair, save on their heads! Simply not my type. Well, there is the Lady…" Here Gimli got a dreamy look in his eyes, and went on to tell Sam once again all the virtues of Galadriel.

Unaware of it all, Legolas slept on without pain or dreams.

* * *

* = From _The Return of the King_

_** = _From_ The Fellowship of the Ring_


	28. Ever After

Don't own LOTR

Well, this is it. The final chapter. To those of you who have stuck with me, especially those who review, I cannot thank you enough! Your reviews help make me a better writer, and know that if you've made a comment on something I have tried to take it into account in some way. I know I don't update nearly often enough, but I hope you've enjoyed reading anyway, at least as much as I've enjoyed writing it. This was supposed to be a short tragedy, ending around chapter 9 before the second attack and before Gimli came to the rescue. Clearly it took on a life of its own, partially thanks to readers who deserved more! So again, thank you and enjoy!

* * *

Legolas and Gimli visited with the hobbits and their families for another month, before they re-grouped with the soldiers left in Bree and began to make their way back to Gondor. The hobbits had decided to stay behind, as there were no longer any graves for them to visit and their children were too young to join them on the road. Sam especially did not want to leave Rosie behind with the new babe, so Legolas and Gimli promised they would try to send Aragorn or Faramir up to the Shire for a visit, whenever the king or steward could be spared. They took their time on the road, befriending the soldiers, and had many a merry adventure along the way. But those are tales in themselves, for another time.

They arrived in Minas Tirith with the first of winter's chill, intending to stay with Aragorn for the week and then return to their separate homes before the weather turned in full and the snows began. Aragorn refused any kingly pretence upon their arrival; he waited only until they reached the Court of the Fountain, the garden of the white tree, before racing to greet them. He and Legolas threw their arms around one another. "Ah my friend," said Aragorn, "you have returned to us!"

Legolas did not respond. Gimli coughed, nudging the king's foot. "Other ear, lad."

Aragorn pulled back. "Legolas, you have returned to us!" he repeated, rather more loudly that was necessary.

Legolas grinned. "I see you have received our letters. I am not _completely _deaf, Aragorn; a might less shouting will be sufficient." Aragorn blushed, and Legolas clapped him on the shoulder. "Yes, I have returned, and this time I intend to keep my promises."

"I would not hold you to such a promise, Legolas," said Aragorn seriously. "In fact, call it not a promise, but rather a hope. What more than hope can a man ask for?"

"A full meal and some ale, I should say," said Gimli.

Aragorn laughed. "But of course! Arwen is waiting within, and we are anxious to hear news of the North. Will you share a meal with us?"

Legolas nodded. "Gladly, if you might give us a moment to wash and change. We are also eager for news."

"And send something hearty to those soldiers who accompanied us!" Gimli added. "They are a fine group, and deserve our thanks for such hospitable companionship."

"It shall be done!" Aragorn led them within, ignoring the unhappy councilors who would have him attend to other duties.

As his friends washed the grime from their journey, Aragorn met his wife and son in their private dining room. "Well then, Estel," said Arwen, "did you remember our friend, or do you care not that he has returned?"

Aragorn laughed. "I do not need to remember, meleth, now that he is with us! You were right; I have lost none of my love for him."

Arwen smirked. "As always."

What followed was a hearty meal, in which all five shared tales of their adventures and news of the places they had seen. Legolas was constantly turning his head to catch the words, but he seemed to have established a reasonable flow that kept his neck from any strain. He moved once more with all the grace of the Eldar. "It seems your injury is a blessing," said Arwen. "You are adapting better than any elf I've heard of; most would not accept such a disability."

Legolas shook his head. "It isn't a disability to me. Yes, it prevents me from being quite the warrior I was – as Gimli will tell you, a dwarf could surprise me in broad daylight if he came from the left. I would be of no use to any fellowship now, but I care not. This maimed ear prevents the sea from taking a hold of me. Even if I cannot hear the same for the rest of my life, I will be pleased for the time it has given me here."

"Hmpf, I'd still like to see you as hale as you were before…before all of this," said Gimli over his cup. "Tell me what you've done with the bastards who began this."

Aragorn glanced at Legolas, who was staring back at him with such an intensity he had to look away. He took a breath. "The council sentenced them not long after you departed. We took their actions as well as their stories into account; those who did not attack you of their own free will were banished from Gondor and Anor. Any who continued to speak ill of the elven race and those who were proven guilty of spilling blood were put to death. Publicly, of course, to quell any further treachery."

"Banished!" exclaimed Gimli. "Much too simple, whatever sob story they might have had! It is an easy enough punishment to escape; who's to recognize them and know they are not welcome?"

Aragorn smiled grimly. "Folk who are banished from Gondor are branded, Gimli, and the crime determines where. For this, their faces were marked."

"Life at all is merciful to them," the dwarf complained.

"It is said the woodelves do not believe in mercy," Legolas said quietly, twirling a knife between his fingers. Gimli and Eldarion looked at one another, neither quite able to forget the wild, murderous vengeance Legolas tried to claim from Gwarod. Would he ask for the right to duel each of the banished men?

Arwen spoke calmly in a halting version of the Silvan tongue, so that only Legolas fully understood her. "We allowed Hathel to claim the woodelves' vengeance. They recognized one of the men who took part in some of the captives' mutilation. I am told his heart was burned, so his fea will serve your departed kin until Mandos sees fit to release them."

The woodelves had dealt with such horrors in the past that they had resorted to extreme punishments. For the most heinous crimes, the perpetrator was killed, and then their heart was carved out, as Arwen said. Legolas nodded once. "It is enough."

Gimli opened his mouth to ask, but decided not to. Legolas had returned to his plate, and if the elf was satisfied he would be. "So, Aragorn," he began in between bites of turkey, "the little ones wish for a visit from ye, seeing as your son is grown and theirs are not."

Aragorn ruffled Eldarion's hair, much to the displeasure of the fifteen-year-old. "Not quite so grown as he may think."

"Ada!"

"However, I have some business in the North in the coming year, and my journeys may very well take me up by the Shire."

"You two have other younglings to visit," said Arwen. "You left before the birth of Lothiriel and Eomer's son Beornwulf."

"Ah!" cried Legolas. "We shall have to make a visit then."

"We missed your birthday as well, lad," said Gimli, eyeing Eldarion meaningfully.

"But we shall remedy that now." Legolas produced a flask from the folds of his clothes and presented it to the young prince.

Arwen glared at the pair. "That had better not be what I think it is."

Gimli poked Legolas in the side. "All his idea."

"It was yours too, old friend, and comes with the compliments of Uncles Elladan and Elrohir!" Legolas grinned.

Eldarion stared at the flask in his hand, which in itself was finely wrought. He opened the top and smelled the sweet liquid inside. "What is it?"

"That is miruvor, the cordial of the elves, elixir of vigor!"

"Powerful stuff," Gimli added.

"And you are _not _to drink it now," growled Arwen. "It is very strong, sometimes too strong for mortal men who do not need its aid. You will thank them and save it."

"Save it for a more difficult day, or a very cold one," Aragorn agreed. "'Tis best in winter; it sends sunlight through your blood."

With Arwen's dark look turned upon her husband, Gimli laughed. "We meant for you to hold onto it for years to come, lad. Take it with you when you need it most, and it will not set you out of sorts."

"Thank you!" Eldarion replied, tucking the flask safely into his belt pouch. "I suppose I never shall be able to thank you enough times; you are always giving me presents!"

"More than is good for the boy," Arwen added, but she did not look so displeased anymore.

"Oh!" the prince exclaimed. "Legolas, you must have your bow back!"

Legolas shook his head. "It is yours."

"Please," Eldarion said, "I do not mean to be ungrateful, but it is _yours_. Even if I could ever hope to have the strength to draw it, I could never use it."

"Eldarion, I don't think I will be–"

"At least hold onto it for me, and let the sight of it bring hope to your people again."

Surprised by the boy's wisdom, Legolas nodded. "You have grown more than we thought." He turned again to Arwen. "Tell me what has become of my people."

"Rúmil and Orophin lead them still. They are well, though they miss their true lord. The brothers are excellent officers, however they do not feel comfortable presiding over a whole people. The elves certainly approve of them, but there is ever a sense of sadness in the air. It is becoming another Lothlorien – beautiful, pleasant, but always with that strange atmosphere, as though you are wandering through a memory."

Legolas frowned. "Lingering will only cause them heartache."

"Will it not cause the same for you?" Aragorn asked quietly.

"I meant lingering on memories, not in Middle Earth."

"Is it so different?"

"Say what you mean to, Aragorn."

Aragorn pushed away his empty plate. "I am sorry, mellon, I still worry for you. Now is not the time."

"Walk with me then, and we will make time. If you will excuse us, my lady?" Legolas stood and bowed to Arwen, who nodded in consent. With a heavy sigh Aragorn followed Legolas through the citadel's winding corridors until they reached the sitting room Legolas and Gimli shared whenever they visited Minas Tirith.

A fire already burned in the hearth, and the pair sat down before it. Legolas made sure to sit with his good ear facing the king, and allowed only a moment to pass before he broke their silence. "You fear I shall leave again, and cause so much more heartache."

"Nay!"

"Do not deny it, you are not alone. Elladan told me that if I leave again now, before your lifetime is out, then it would be better if I had not come back at all. I am not unaware of the attention I have garnered from this venture, and it shames me to think of the burden I must have been to all of you. I will not leave again, not until you and Gimli have died. My pride, if nothing else, will not allow it."

"You cannot pretend that having just one ear fixes everything!" Aragorn cried. "You had reason to be a burden; you were in pain, near to death towards the end! You cannot tell me it was all because of the damned gulls, or you would have sailed straight past Gondor the very day you heard them first and gone to the sea."

"That is true. What happened with Gwarod – it made me lose my faith in this world, and question what kind of future I had in it. When I gave in to that despair, the sea-longing took hold, and I had no strength to fight both my grief and the song. My head is quieter now, and I don't feel so sick; I can finally think things through again."

"That does not mean you are healed. In fact, you are worse off than when you left us, by any healer's standards."

"Mind is more important than body. This I can adapt to."

"That does not change what they did to you."

Legolas went rigid. "No, it does not. Nothing will change that," he growled. Then he sighed and turned to his friend. "Aragorn, my life will never be what it was. I cannot forget what happened, I cannot accept it, but I can live with it."

Suddenly Aragorn felt like little Estel again, and he desperately wanted to clutch and Legolas' hand and beg him to be well again, to be whole. "I wish you had never–"

Legolas pulled him close and pressed his forehead against Aragorn's. "No more wishing, no more thinking, no more blaming. I'm here now, and I intend to remain here until I no longer have any reason to."

**XXX**

In the year 83 of the Fourth Age, Legolas sat by the side of a very old man. The man lay in a bed too large for him alone, with the blankets pulled up to his chest. He still had the noble bearing of his youth, but it was clear that he had no strength. "Well mellon-nin," wheezed the man, "I believe this will be our last meeting."

"Oh, I shouldn't say that," the elf replied.

"I suppose I have already died often enough to give folk pause," laughed the man, which resulted in dry coughing.

Legolas put a hand against his back and waited. He was no healer, but the touch seemed to ease the old lungs and the coughing subsided. "That is true, but it is not quite what I meant. I look forward to the day when we will all meet again, and there will be no boundary of death or bodies to separate the joy there will be when we reunite. I envy that you shall reach such a state sooner than I."

"Once I would have disagreed, but I think now that you are right. I miss Eowyn, I miss my brother and my parents. I shall call it paradise if I am simply surrounded by their presence for all eternity. I do hope you and the others will join us one day, Legolas."

"That is how I chose to interpret the will of the Valar, for I cannot let myself think that I would be left abandoned by all of you who I hold so dear."

He squeezed the elf's hand. "I do not believe it will be so. But you may be lonely for a while, and I am sorry for it."

"Aragorn and Gimli have some years yet in this world, I believe. And then…and then I will wait with all the rest of my people, and if all they say is true than I shall wait in peace. Do not concern yourself with my well-being, Faramir. Do not let the cares of this world follow you into the next. Elboron is a good steward; Faelwen an able warrior when she wants to be, and a great artist when she does not. Look upon them with pride, and know that you are the father of a great and noble house."

Faramir smiled. "Did you know Barahir and his wife have a new babe? Another great-grandchild. They want to name him after me."

Legolas chuckled, "There will be a plethora of Faramirs from here to the Shire, for I hear it has become quite popular among the hobbits."

"Do you think that hobbits go the same place as men, Legolas? I should dearly like to meet them again, especially Pippin."

"I have no doubts that they will be there, tending to Eru's gardens. Give them my greetings, if you will."

Faramir nodded. "That I will." They were quiet for a while, thinking over the past and the looming unknown of the future. "Legolas?" Faramir whispered.

"Yes?"

"I think I am going to sleep now, I am very tired. Will you send Elboron and Faelwen to sit with me?"

Legolas patted the veined but steady hands and stood. "Of course. Goodbye, Faramir. Of all the humans I have ever met, you are one of the greatest quality."

Faramir squeezed the eternally young hand, with its strangely warped fingers. "We will meet again, Legolas, only this time we shall wake on the other side of the dream. Hold fast to hope, and we mortals will sing you home when it is time."

Legolas smiled, and hummed a quiet melody as he went out of Faramir's bedroom in Emyn Arnen. Faramir could still hear him when his children entered, trying not to look sad, and it brought him peace. He spoke softly with them for a while longer before his eyes grew too heavy, and then he just listened. He could not say how long he lay like that, listening to his children talk and Legolas sing, when he heard a voice calling to him that he had not encountered in a very long time.

"Faramir…Faramir…"

"Boromir?" It was not that Faramir saw him, so much as he _felt _him.

"Come, little brother, there are people who are waiting for you!"

"But I am tired, Bor."

"Let me help you, then." There was laughter, and his brother was suddenly with him, all around him, and he was filled with light and life and all the energy of his youth. He slipped free from the aged body which lay on a bed in Ithilien, and his spirit soared with Boromir. Suddenly they were not alone, but surrounded by a joyous chorus of welcome.

"My son…"

"Dear child…"

"Faramir!"

"My prince…"

"Hullo Faramir! We've been wondering when you would come, we felt it was soon, but we weren't sure…"

"Let him be, he's only just arrived!"

"Hello, my love."

The last one was accompanied by the sweetest mingling of spirits, and Faramir felt himself lifted higher and higher. He shed his cares, his grudges, his duties, so that when he finally found himself at the foot of a great judge, he was bare, and he was happy. Surrounded by love, he was allowed to simply _be_.

**XXX**

Many years later, though it was only the blink of an eye in the stream of an immortal life, a little ship came within sight of the white shores of Valinor. There were only two figures on board, both hunched with fatigue. The smaller one was a very old dwarf, who leaned on a beautifully carved walking stick as he looked toward the docks. His eyesight was not nearly what it had been, but he could recognize the shoreline coming ever closer, and he could not prevent the slight tremble of his hands. Legolas had promised he would be welcomed, but how could the elf know for sure?

The second figure, Legolas, steered them for the docks. His eyesight was perfect, and he could make out every detail of the land before him. It was more beautiful than he could ever have imagined, but his heart ached. Once he set foot on those shores his fate was sealed: he could never return to Middle Earth, and despite his promise to all those mortals he had helped to pass on, he was not sure at all if he would be able to see them again. There was a grief about him so strong that it had taken all of Gimli's persuasion, and some of Eldarion's, to get him on board the ship.

Gimli came up beside Legolas and called into his good ear. "Well lad, if you tell me what you see I shall tell you what I hear."

Legolas smiled a bit; this had become their routine as the years went on, and it was truly rumored from Gondor to the Shire that the dwarf and elf could not function without the other. "I see a fair green country beyond shores of white sand. I can see cities in the distance, with white towers that reach out to the morning sun. Close at hand are a few buildings, but there is no one about. There are other ships in the water, in various shapes and sizes, but I fear all put ours to shame. Yet I steer us for a little dock, the only one that is empty. It seems to have been left for our coming."

Gimli nodded. "I hear the waves as they meet with those shores and run out again. I think I hear voices in the distance, as of many fair folk, but I cannot be sure if it is only my imagination. On the wind there is a strange note, something like a song. The same runs through the earth, and I hear the steady drumming of the stones here as I never have before. This world is alive! And above it all are those gulls, calling and calling."

"You see? Valinor welcomes your presence," said Legolas. "Though I admit I am surprised to see no one at all. I do not know where to go from here."

"We'll go together then, one step at a time."

The boat finally met with the docks, and together the pair tied her to the posts. For a moment both stood on the ship staring around them, and back over the way they had come. At last Gimli hefted one of his bags and handed another to Legolas. "Nothing for it but to go forward, and see what happens next."

Legolas took the bag and put his hand on Gimli's shoulder. "Never did I think I would enter Valinor side-by-side with a dwarf."

Gimli chuckled into his thick white beard and looked up. "How about side-by-side with a friend?"

"Together then," said Legolas. So, as one, they stepped off of the boat and onto the dock.

Nothing happened.

"Perhaps the dock does not count," Gimli suggested. They walked forward slowly, and at the end of the dock Legolas paused.

"I want to feel it," he explained to Gimli as he removed his boots. Gimli rolled his eyes, but it was more a gesture of habit than annoyance. Legolas took his arm again, and they stepped into the sand. Legolas closed his eyes and wriggled his toes, breathing in the mingled scent of sea and earth. Gimli looked about, expecting some raging force to come for him any moment and sweep him back to Middle Earth, or drown him in the sea.

"Well bless my buttons! Mister Frodo, come and take a look at this!"

Gimli whirled around in surprise, for of all the voices he had expected to hear upon his arrival in Valinor, that of Samwise Gamgee was one of last. But sure enough, upon the long hill that ran across the place where the sand turned to fresh green grass stood an old hobbit, with another coming up behind him. They waved wildly at the pair and began running towards them, despite their apparent age.

Gimli turned Legolas in their direction. "Tell me not that my eyes are deceiving me, Legolas, for I would swear I see Frodo and Sam coming down that hill!"

Legolas' face lit up in awe. "Nay, unless it is some trick of this place, I see them too!" He ran to meet them, and Gimli followed. The dwarf found that his legs gained strength with each step, until he barely needed his walking stick.

They met and embraced with great joy, any fears of this new land momentarily forgotten. Then the four beheld one another, taking in all the changes that the years had wrought. Frodo and Sam were undeniably old, with grey-white hair and wrinkled skin. But they shone with health and vitality, and both had lost the taint of the ring that had hung about them when they were in Middle Earth. Gimli, too, showed all the signs of his age, but he was beginning to lose the feeling of those aches that had been settling deep into his bones. Legolas, though he looked no older, had changed as well. His hair had not been cut since Gwarod sheered it, so that it now hung unbraided down to the small of his back. A black band was tied about his ears. Though their physical aches were eased, the deep-seated grief both Gimli and Legolas felt remained, leaving such a sadness in their eyes that it made the hobbits' hearts ache.

"Hello," said Frodo.

Legolas smiled. "Hello indeed, my friends."

"How did you find us?" asked Gimli.

"We didn't know that we would!" Sam exclaimed. "Only we were saying that we should like to take a walk today, and Lady Galadriel suggested that we might enjoy going down to look at the ships. There was something in the way she said it that made us sure there was more to it, but that is how all these elves talk so we thought we might as well. Now we've found you! Oh Mister Frodo, isn't it wonderful?"

"Yes it is, Sam. Won't you come back with us now? It isn't very far, we've been visiting. We live on Tol Eressea, the island you passed as you sailed in."

"You can leave your things behind, and later we'll ask for some help in taking it all from the boat!" Sam added.

Still somewhat bewildered, Legolas and Gimli agreed to follow the hobbits. "Is Bilbo with you?" asked Gimli, for he remembered the hobbit fondly from the tales his father told.

"Bilbo died some years ago," Frodo replied. Although there was a hint of sadness in his voice, he did not seem to mind the subject.

"I – I'm sorry," Legolas stuttered.

"Don't be, he was much older than any hobbit I've ever known," said Frodo. "Besides, he was quite happy in the end. We mortals were not meant to live forever. This place just gives us healing, and a lot of extra time."

Legolas gripped Gimli's shoulder, and the dwarf patted his hand. "Fear not, lad. I'm glad to know it, and now we're here I'll be sure to leave you with some good company. But let's not think about that just yet, this is a happy place!"

"Oh, very happy!" said Sam. "Gimli, did you know the Lady Galadriel still talks of you? She will be glad to see you again."

Gimli spluttered for a reply, and could not think of one. Frodo laughed. "And we were very glad to see all of the letters you sent along with the other ships. Come! Tell us what has happened; we have had no news of Middle Earth since Elladan and Elrohir arrived."

Legolas bowed his head, recalling that the twins had sailed over a year ago, before even Aragorn began to feel his time was coming. They had no wish to watch Aragorn and Arwen die, and so they departed. Legolas had not been the last elf in Middle Earth, but the others had no intention of leaving, and he had been alone in Ithilien. Gimli patted his arm, and the dwarf's steady manner of relaying all their pleasant adventures brought him back to the peace of Valinor.

Frodo took Legolas' hand while Gimli and Sam continued to talk. "Why do you wear that band, Legolas?" he asked quietly.

Legolas blinked. "I thought they would have told you. My ears were…badly harmed in an incident many years ago. They are quite terrible to look upon."

"They did tell me. Sam also said that you were deaf in one ear. But I mean to ask why do you _still _wear that band?"

"I would not spoil Valinor with the sight, nor shame myself in the presence of such high powers," Legolas answered, trying to quell the bit of anger in his voice.

"Will you come closer to repeat that? Valinor certainly slows age, but I cannot hear quite so well as I did in my youth."

Legolas sighed, determined to phrase his response more gently. He leaned down, but before he could speak Frodo gripped the black band and pulled it off. "Frodo!" Legolas shouted, his hands going to his ears in order to hide them. "That was a cruel trick, unbecoming of…a…"

Legolas felt smooth flesh under his fingertips, running up into a pointed tip. He gasped and stared down at Frodo. The hobbit held up his hands with a grin, wiggling all ten healthy fingers. "It takes time to heal from deeper wounds, but those that are physical heal quickly," he explained.

"What's going on, Legolas?" Gimli called from his left.

_His left_. Legolas turned slowly, at the same time letting his healed hands fall back to his sides. "Gimli," he whispered. "Gimli, I can hear you!"

Gimli gaped at the renewed elf before him. His ears were as they always had been, save for a thin line that ran across to mark the place Gwarod had cut, for it was not forgetting those dark moments of life that made for healing. Clapping his hands, Gimli dropped his walking stick and embraced Legolas. "At last, my lad, we are on our way to being whole! Oh, I will call this land truly blessed if it does no more than bring you back to me!"

Valinor did much more than this, for it brought peace to them all. It reunited friends and kin, and in their memories those mortals who had passed on lived again. So the Princes of Ithilien are dead, by the standards of Middle Earth, but each time their tale is repeated, they live again - happily ever after, beyond the end of their days.


End file.
